The Fairy Tale Ending
by DoneAndDusted
Summary: My first work of fanfiction for this series. My version of the infamous get together of one of anime's best loved couples; can three years change the habits of a life time?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Bulma Briefs, heir to the (unfortunately) metaphorical throne of Capsule Corporation, the Earth's most prestigious and wealthiest company, had always wanted to be a princess. She was as close as she was ever going to get, due to inherit power and riches in so great a quantity it was almost obscene; in everything but name, she _was_ a princess. Still, the childhood dream of the glittering crown and beautiful dresses had endured somewhere in her heart until this moment. Bulma had found the handsome prince, certainly. Unfortunately for her, Vegeta was anything but charming.

"Woman!" The familiar bellow resounded through the lab. "Your machine has broken again! Fix it!"

The fragile piece of glass in Bulma's fingers, the final part of a new prototype she had spent the last four days painstakingly assembling, trembled in protest as Vegeta's roar rose in volume. The Saiyan prince stormed across the threshold and into her sanctuary and, with a last fizzle of despair, the prism shattered. She gritted her teeth as tiny slivers of glass drove themselves into the sensitive tips of her fingers; the work had been far too delicate for gloves, and she hadn't dared to entrust it to anyone else. Even her father no longer had the dexterity to do it. And her 'guest' had just obliterated four days of almost non-stop effort. Bulma's hands clenched into fists as blood appeared like freckles above the splinters.

"I've had it up to here with you, you ridiculous, arrogant, demanding _monkey_ !" Her own voice rose to such a pitch that he flinched, his ears ringing. "That was four days worth of my time and effort, Vegeta! Four days! I don't care if the GR has broken. I don't care if you've blown in into tiny pieces. I don't even care if you've blown up half the house. Fix it yourself!"

With a final, wordless shriek of frustration and rage, the scientist bolted from the lab, fighting furiously against the stinging tears in her eyes. The company who had commissioned the prototype had issued a deadline for its initial unveiling, which expired in two days time. There was no way she could finish the damn thing by then. Not without the specialised refractory device, which the untrained ape had just broken. Four days on only a few hours snatched sleep was wearing on her, and so when she heard the familiar, brisk footsteps she swung around with scalding words already on her tongue.

Vegeta stood impassively, arms folded, as the human woman let loose. Her vitriolic insults came so thickly that they almost overlapped, and he privately admitted to being impressed by her imaginative curses. However, when she began to defile the name of his royal house with her commoner's tongue, he abruptly straightened, his arms falling to his sides as his dark eyes bore into hers. She shut up like he'd flipped a switch.

Bulma tried to swallow as he stiffened, his usually detached glare suddenly piercing her as surely as a butterfly on a pin, and icy fear trailed its hands down her spine. The words dried in her throat. She flinched back as he began to stalk towards her, his eyes on a level with her own; how was it, she thought with the cold clarity that always came to her through terror, that she always forgot he was so short? The reminder of his stature gave her back her courage, and she lifted her chin defiantly as he approached until their faces were merely inches apart.

"Do not dare to think you can revile my noble blood and get away with it, Earthling." His voice was soft, reasonable. Chilling. "If you do so again, I shall rip out your tongue and squeeze the life out of you with it. Do you understand?"

Her expression was still rebellious, but he could smell the tangy fear billowing from her in waves. He smirked as her eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips together firmly.

"I do not like having to repeat myself," he murmured silkily. Reaching out, he gripped her hand, lifting it towards him. When she struggled briefly, he exerted his strength until she gasped at the pressure. Inspecting her blood-speckled fingers, he suddenly yanked one to his lips, taking the tip into his mouth and seeking the source of her injury with his tongue. Finding it, he closed his sharp teeth down, making her whimper at the hot flash of pain. With excruciating control, he forced the glass splinter from her flesh along with another droplet of blood.

"Do you understand?" he purred, allowing her to yank her hand away.

Bulma nodded mutely, cradling her throbbing finger against her chest. "You're a complete bastard, Vegeta," she whispered, her eyes burning.

He laughed, the sound sending shivers of unease down her back, her skin crawling. Without answering, he let his lip curl in contempt and spat her blood at her feet, where it gleamed mockingly at her.

"I would not demean myself by swallowing the blood of one so base. My machine still needs fixing, woman." And, still laughing, he strode away down the hall towards his quarters.

Feeling another spike of courage, Bulma glared down at the blood on the floor before screaming after him, "You should be glad you didn't swallow it, Vegeta! I would have made sure it poisoned you!"

Hurling herself into her room, she slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled before collapsing into a sobbing heap on the floor. The look in his eyes then had been so similar to the one that had been there when he'd attacked her and Krillin on Namek, something she still had nightmares about. Shuddering, she curled her legs up to her chest, her hair falling half over her face. Gasping for air between her curses and choked sobs, she forced herself to her knees then tottered to the bathroom to clean her hands. Ignoring the biting sting of the iodine she used to disinfect the tiny wounds, she slumped wearily over the sink, exhaustion making her bones feel like lead and her head pound.

When she had dried her hands off, she made her way across the room to the bed and, without showering or changing her clothes, promptly collapsed forward onto it with boneless apathy, her eyes already closing against the light of the afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Vegeta was annoyed. The woman hadn't fixed his machine yet, so he had reverted to his second most popular method of spending time: eating. Unfortunately for him, Bunny, as she insisted he call her, was in the kitchen, and her steady flow of inane chatter was grating on his nerves. After a few minutes, he was forced into ignoble retreat, his chair squealing angrily as he shoved himself away from the table, now laden with a dozen empty plates. He acknowledged her cheerful wave of farewell with a regal nod; at least one woman on this ridiculous, miserable pit of a planet treated him with the respect he deserved, and she was a fine cook.

Heading outside, he stalked silently towards the squat shape of his GR. After secluding herself in her room the previous evening, the blue-haired woman had finally emerged from her pathetic isolation, toolbox in hand, and she was currently engrossed in the totally alien world of electronics. Approaching on soundless feet, he stared over her shoulder for a moment into the innards of the device before smirking at her bowed head, the telltale clink of metal on metal from the direction in which her hands were buried telling him that she was setting to rights whatever had gone wrong.

Bulma was frowning, her body tense and almost shaking with concentration. Inside the GR she was working with live electricity, and although the wires were grouped up and secured in orderly sections, it was still difficult to see what she was doing in the gloom. She worked, as was her custom, without gloves, though she used special rubber tools as a precaution. She held her breath as she gripped the damaged wire in the synthetic, orange tweezers, her every muscle going taut. This was the dangerous part. Leaning forward to see better, she went to lift the wire and reconnect it when the sudden, harsh bark of Vegeta's voice behind her made her jump violently. There was a moment of hot, searing pain behind her eyelids and an acrid, ozone scent before everything went dark.

"Woman!" Vegeta snapped, preparing to demand to know how long the repairs would take. The scientist jumped, as he had predicted she would, but then her whole body stiffened, the muscles locking as a tremendous seizure wracked her petite frame. Her lack of response made him scowl.

"Woman!" He tried again. Another spasm rippled through her body, the bitter stench of burning filling his nostrils. Infuriated by her seemingly deliberate disregard, he lifted one booted foot and, with the hard sole of the shoe, shoved her violently away from the machine where she had been cowering.

Her body rolled almost fifteen feet, even though it had been as gentle a push as he would ever give. He had the brief thought that she shouldn't have gone half the distance if she was trying to stop herself from moving, and it made his customary scowl deepen. Stomping after her, he surveyed her still form, the muscles which had released their tension twitching occasionally. It finally registered that her breathing was erratic and that her heartbeat was jumping wildly, and he silently absorbed the frozen expression of pain and surprise twisting her delicate features.

"Bulma!" The cry came from Dr. Briefs, who had been crossing the lawn in search of his errant cat. Looking idly for his daughter to check her progress, he had been at first surprised, then horrified, to see her unmoving at the feet of their angry-looking houseguest. Rushing over, he eyed the vicious burns on her fingertips and the rubber tools scattered over the distance back to the GR before cursing. The Saiyan watched dispassionately as the man fumbled to put on a pair of gloves in some absurd colour before bending and, with strength that was admirable in such a pathetic specimen of the equally pathetic human race, hefted his immobile child into his arms before carrying her into the house.

Vegeta stood on the grass for a long moment, not a little confused and highly irritated at the continuing lifelessness of the machine behind him, before shrugging and taking to the air in search of Kakkarot; if he couldn't use the GR, he would have to make do with the goofy, third-class excuse for a warrior as a sparring partner instead.

When he returned, it was dark. He landed on the balcony outside his allotted apartment, wincing as a broken rib grated against its other half; Kakkarot was getting faster with every day that passed, curse him. Sliding the door open, he stepped into the dark room, his powerful eyes piercing the gloom with ease as he lingered by the exit, scanning his surroundings for anything out of place. Satisfied that the rooms were safe, he quietly shut the door and padded across to the bathroom. Turning on the light, he twisted the dial on the shower to start the water flowing before inspecting his appearance in the shimmering glass of the mirror. Despite his bruised face and a shallow cut along his high cheekbone, he smirked proudly at his reflection, which returned the favour. While it was ordinarily of little concern to him as a warrior, he found his outward appearance pleasing to the eye, and he preened a little before stepping into the shower.

The feel of the hot water massaging his muscles made him suppress a groan of delight as he stretched his neck to one side, letting the warmth soothe away the ache of a strained joint. His eyes closed in pleasure, and slowly be became aware of another kind of tension forming a hard knot in his belly. His lips curled into a silent snarl as one large, calloused hand slid down his body to deal with the situation. On Frieza's ship there had been a vast selection of concubines at his disposal, all skilled in the physical arts, but he had rarely availed himself of them, preferring to concentrate on his training.

He felt the heat inside him building as he cupped himself in an experienced hand; more often than not, he had perfunctorily dealt with his body's needs himself rather than summon one of the many females to him, and he knew what relieved him the fastest. Wrapping a fist around his hard length, he began the long, firm movements that would achieve release as behind his closed eyes the gentle, pale hands of a faceless woman caressed his body. Shuddering, he increased the pace of his strokes as his phantom parted her legs for him and he drove into her heat, a harsh growl tearing from his throat as he heard the silent whimpers of pleasure he was forcing from her throat, the admissions of his dominance. After only a few moments more his muscles locked and white heat seared his body, radiating out from the base of his spine as he threw his head back and gasped for breath.

It wasn't until he had washed the evidence of his release away and, dry, had settled into the large bed, feeling the silk sheets sliding sensuously against his naked skin, that it occurred to him that he hadn't heard the scientist woman screeching. Although her parents had usually vanished into their own quarters by this time of night, he could still hear the blue-haired female moving about the rooms of her home or, faintly, the sounds of her working in the laboratory, often late into the night. He resolutely closed his eyes, attempting to ignore her absence, but he realised with disgust that he had become accustomed to the slight sounds of human life, and the silence was making him uneasy.

Growling, feeling resentment beginning to fester inside him like a blister in need of lancing, he rose from the bed. Pulling on a ridiculous, loose garment the woman had called 'sweatpants', he headed out into the darkened hallway. He prowled through the noiseless, still house on silent feet. Inhaling, he tracked the now-familiar smell of the harpy to what must be her own set of rooms; he'd never taken any interest in where she lived before. Smirking, he pushed the door open, sure that not knocking would be a sure-fire way to ignite her volatile temper. Relishing the coming argument, he stepped into the room.

Silence greeted him. His scowl darkened. Why did she deny him one of their spats? It was as close as he could come to sparring with her, after all, and there was a certain malicious pleasure in watching his barbs infuriate her, inspiring her to fierce retaliation. He looked around the room, absorbing the scent that hung in the air; she always smelled like vanilla faintly spiced with cinnamon, purity that just hinted at the sensuality lurking beneath the surface. It irked him for some reason he could not discover, like an itch that he couldn't quite reach to scratch. His eyes fell on the bed, and he blinked, puzzled. The woman was there, so why hadn't she responded to his presence? He tensed warily, ready for a trap of some sort as he approached with silent, feline grace.

By the time he was standing at her bedside and nothing had happened to cause any alarm, he was beginning to relax just slightly. He gazed down at her still body, his sensitive ears registering the heavy thudding of her heart, its slow rhythm somehow soothing as her deep, even breathing stirred the air around him. She lay under only a thin sheet, for summer was just starting on Earth, and the moonlight illuminated the outline of her body softly. Her pale skin glowed in the silvery radiance it emitted, the long strands of her hair, recently straightened out of the horrendous cloud it had been before, brushing the rising swell of her breasts, which rose and fell. His gaze drifted lower unashamedly, hungrily taking in the alluring curves of her hips, only half revealed by the teasing moonlight and the midnight-blue satin of her nightgown.

The slightest hitch in her breathing alerted him to her change of state, and he was gone from the room before she woke fully. She blinked sleepily at the door, which was open half an inch, foggily trying to remember if her dad had closed it behind him when leaving her room earlier. After a moment the persistent tug of the sleeping pills prescribed by the hospital dragged her down into oblivion again, before she could become aware of the sharp ache in her traumatised muscles. As she drifted back into her dreams of a blurred figure atop a magnificent white horse, holding one steady hand out to her in invitation, she dimly registered the sound of the door closing with a soft click.

Outside the room, Vegeta closed his eyes as he recalled the shape of her body beneath the sheet, feeling the phantom touch of velvet-soft skin against his own as he imagined her twining that magnificent body around him, her long, elegant limbs drawing him into her until he was drowning in her heat and softness. Very little about his life had been soft, but in the deepest reaches of his heart, encased for so long in thick, impenetrable ice, he coveted softness, longed for it, _needed_ it with a hunger that terrified and infuriated him. The Prince of Saiyans should need nothing, but as he returned to the welcoming luxury of the suite that had been provided for his use, the memory of her remained at the back of his mind, overlaid by the beginnings of a simmering lust.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When Bulma woke again, it was nearing mid-afternoon. Blearily examining the face of her clock, cheerily blinking at her, she was surprised to find that it was two o'clock. Groaning, she sat up, swinging her legs around and rising quickly to her feet before the throbbing pain in her muscles had time to register. The moment she tried to stand, however, her thigh muscles contracted painfully and her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the floor with a painful thud.

Whimpering as her knees gave a sharp twinge, she opened her eyes and pushed herself up until she was crouched uncomfortably. Warily, she moved to stand, locking her aching knees as a precaution. Once on her feet, she cautiously took a step forward, horrified to find that her legs trembled beneath her. Leaning heavily against the wall, she tried to remember what had caused her weakness, forcing down the instinctive panic that was welling in her throat. She closed her eyes and took in a deep, calming breath, racking her brain for the answer.

She had to rebalance herself after a moment, distracted by the tingling pain in her legs. Bracing her hands against the wall seemed to rid her of the dizziness, she found with relief, and she tipped her head back as well for good measure. Feeling firmly anchored, she strained to recall the happenings of the previous day. Blankness greeted her efforts. Panic threatened to consume her until her features suddenly resolved themselves into a stubborn scowl; she was Bulma Briefs, the richest young woman on the planet, an internationally-acknowledged genius, and she always got what she wanted. Concentrating so hard that her head hurt, she shut her eyes. Gradually, fragments of memory began to return.

She recalled Vegeta storming into the lab, breaking the fragile glass refractor, forcing the splinter of glass painfully from her finger. The remembered heat of his mouth made her blush as a different kind of tingling suffused her body, and she forced it away, aghast. There was no way she was attracted to Vegeta. Sure, he had a body to die for, but his personality was sorely lacking. Not to mention the incredible likelihood of actually dying if she tried to get her hands on him. She delved back into the memories of the previous day, which came faster by the minute. She saw him spitting her own blood at her feet, heard his cocky, laughing voice demanding that she fix the GR. The GR…

Bulma's eyes shot open, her fingers crooking into claws. That bastard! Vegeta had made her _electrocute _herself! Her dainty features contorted into a snarl and she pushed violently away from the wall, only to collapse to the floor again when her knees gave out under the sudden weight. Panting with impotent rage, choking back the sobs attempting to rise in her throat, she forced herself back onto her knees, her eyes glittering with vengeful fury as she threw her head back, the silky blue strands of her hair hissing angrily, and howled.

"Vegeta! Get your arrogant simian ass in here before I press the self-destruct button on the GR with you still in it!"

Her voice rose to a banshee's shriek, echoing through the whole of Capsule Corp. Even the Saiyan training in the newly-fixed GR, which a harassed Dr. Briefs had fixed, heard her shrill summons. Debating the seriousness of the threat, which he had no doubt she would carry out, he growled his irritation before tapping the commands for a 'safe' shutdown into the computer, which the woman had insisted he do each and every time he used the pod-like room. He had to attain the status of Super Saiyan before the shadowy mechanical foes in the future arrived, and he could not afford to waste time waiting for the scientist to build him a new GR.

Grabbing the towel from the rails outside, he wiped the sweat from his face, enjoying the whisper of downy cotton across his skin. Finally, he lifted into the air and, with a deliberate lack of speed, drifted towards the heiress' private quarters.

Landing on her balcony, he glanced into the room disdainfully, only to see the blue-haired female kneeling on the floor, her delicate, graceful shoulders bowed as though by some heavy weight, her head tipped forward onto her chest. Seeing her in such a blatantly submissive pose awoke something in him, something primal and fierce and distinctly male. His eyes gleamed as he swaggered into the room, approaching her with a sneer. He halted behind her, folding his arms proudly across his chest. Although he hadn't made a sound, Bulma's head slowly turned so that she could glare at him over her shoulder, though she made no move to get up. He watched idly as the muscles along her jaw rippled.

He smirked, watching her clench her teeth angrily, and his voice was soft, a deep, rumbling vibration that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. "Well, I see you have finally learned your place, woman."

She gasped indignantly, then a fascinating redness began to spread from her face down her slender neck and across her chest. He eyed its progress with an infuriating leer, his eyes smouldering.

"What did you say?" Her voice had dropped to a tight, strained whisper, as though she were about to explode with tension.

He sneered down at her, circling around until he faced her. "That is where you belong, woman." Her glare intensified but she didn't reply, so he tauntingly ran a palm over his taut chest, a sensual movement that drew her suddenly wide eyes like a magnet. He bent at the waist, his hot breath caressing the side of her neck. "On your knees in front of me."

For a moment they were frozen like that, and he inhaled, basking in the alluring scent she emanated. Then her hand flew around so fast that, had he been human, she would have knocked him off his feet. Instead, he caught the slap a mere centimetre from his face, which twisted into a feral, cold smile. Reversing his grip, he began to lift himself into the air, forcing her to her feet. When she was standing, he glanced down at her, only to be greeted with the sight of her eyes, huge in her pale face, staring at her legs as though they belonged to someone else. With a spiteful sense of amusement, he lifted further, and though her shriek when her feet parted from the ground made his ears hurt, the desperate way she clutched at his hand made it worthwhile.

Chuckling malevolently, he climbed higher still until he was almost horizontal, his back brushing the ceiling, and Bulma was a full five feet above the thickly carpeted floor. The scientist, conscious of the empty space below her, clung fiercely to his forearm with both hands, her weak legs dangling limply beneath them. Vegeta eyed her bloodless, frightened face with scorn, and a bit of confusion. Humans were frail creatures but falling so little distance surely couldn't hurt them that much? Unless the woman feared heights, which he privately thought unlikely, since he had seen her comfortably seated atop the GR when the roof panels needed sealing. Experimentally, he let her slip a little with a slight flick of his wrist.

Bulma whimpered as she dropped several inches sharply, before stopping with a jerk that made her leg muscles burn. She was almost reduced to asking him to put her down gently when the door to her room opened and Bunny sailed into the room. She looked at them, nonplussed, for a long moment before enlightenment lit her features in the form of a sunny, vacuous smile. She continued to beam at them disconcertingly as she simultaneously talked and tidied odds and ends around the room.

"Oh, Vegeta, you're showing Bulma how to fly! You're such a nice boy." Vegeta had the momentary vision of her pinching his cheeks as she had done to an embarrassed Gohan. He shuddered. "And so handsome too! Bulma, you lucky girl."

Vegeta, cursing the blush rising on his cheeks, abruptly dropped Bulma, who didn't even have time to squeal as she fell. As she landed, her legs miraculously held for a few seconds, but then a painful spasm clenched the muscles in her thighs and she collapsed to the floor with an inelegant grunt. Bunny and Vegeta blinked down at her, one baffled, the other amused. The Saiyan descended to the floor, touching down gracefully, before cocking an eyebrow at the human at his feet, who was staring at her legs in dismay.

Bulma looked up at her mother, and even Bunny could see the fear there. She swept it, enfolding her daughter in a flower-scented embrace. "There there, sweetheart. The doctor said the electricity might have a few side-effects, but they should go away with time."

The blue-haired woman seemed to shrink into herself, still staring at her immobile limbs. Her voice was numb. "How much time?"

Bunny hesitated. "They didn't say exactly how long, but…"

Her daughter bowed her head, and Vegeta heard her take in a long, shaky breath. After a moment, she straightened up, her eyes glittering with anger and tears held back only by determination, which left its mark in the tight set of her lips and the way her fingers curled into fists. Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her feet; to Vegeta, who had no idea what was going on, it looked like the woman was struggling to stand under a great weight. The brief memory of his reaction to the pressure he'd encountered when he had overestimated his strength and set the GR up too high flashed through his mind, and a bolt of lust shot through him. With determination like that, Bulma would have made a magnificent Saiyan.

He watched her muscles swell and bunch under her flawless skin, the sweat standing out on her body making his eyes glaze with arousal. Finally, she stood on her own two feet, proud defiance shining in her face as she eyed the wall, which she had neglected to use as a prop. Another wave of fierce desire washed through him, and he turned to leave, ready to take the problem in hand and ease the tension suddenly tightening his muscles. He had only taken one step when her low, guttural snarl reached his ears, making him pause in mid stride.

"You!" He slowly turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, and her eyes were so savagely triumphant that he had to swallow a hoarse growl of want. "You got me into this state, Vegeta. Now you can stick around and help me out of it."

He didn't deign to turn fully, meeting her eyes with a regal sneer of his own. She wasn't worth his civil, full attention, after all. His reaction to her was natural; he was a man in his prime and she was undeniably an attractive female, for all that she was merely a human. His people were highly in tune with their bestial instincts, and rutting was a powerful drive in him. She would, however, be totally unsuitable for a mate; she was weak and sentimental, and irritating to boot. Yet he wanted her with a ferocity that reminded him that he hadn't been able to appease that particular urge for a long time.

Finally, after they had glared at each other for a long minute, he became impatient. "Explain yourself, woman! And be quick about it. I'm wasting time when I should be training."

Bulma rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with mulish stubbornness. "You're the one that made me electrocute myself. That was what caused this…"she looked down at her folded limbs with disgust, groping for the words, "…_malfunction_. Since it's your fault, you can help me get on with things, including fixing the prototype you also managed to break, until I get better."

Vegeta did turn at that, brows snapping down into a dark scowl. "Woman, I don't have time to cater to your every whim! I am a prince and a warrior, not a servant. I will not so demean myself!"

For a moment, she looked as though she was about to explode into another fit of rage, but then she paused, a sly glitter appearing in her captivating eyes before her face took on a nonchalant mask as she flapped a hand at him in casual indifference.

"That's fine, Vegeta. Off you go, then." He snarled at her, his pride stung by her careless dismissal, but nonetheless turned to leave again when her voice stopped him. "But don't expect me to fix the GR for you. After all, I can't walk at the moment. How awful it would be if all my projects piled up so that when I do get better, I don't have the time to repair it for you."

He darted a look at her from the corner of his eye, and her smug, superior smirk told him that she would do just that, if only to spite him. The tense silence extended over several minutes as he fought to suppress his temper. Finally, he slowly turned to face her, folding his arms across his chest. There was no lust in his eyes as he looked at her now, only cold calculation. The familiar smirk twisted his lips as his eyes raked over her body, making her shiver with some unknown emotion which she firmly ignored.

"Fine. But you _will _obey my conditions."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Bulma grunted as Vegeta none too gently dropped her onto the hard stool she usually used in the lab, making a fierce ache shoot up her spine. Shifting around, carefully but steadily turning her legs along with her body, she glared at him. Just as she opened her mouth, however, he sneered and raised his eyebrow significantly. Giving a resentful sigh, the genius turned back to her desk, bending over the nearly-complete prototype she'd been working on before the accident. Only the soft hiss of the doBr sliding shut and the breeze at the back of her neck let her know he'd gone. Back to his training, no doubt, she thought with a mental sneer.

She sighed again, this time wearily, letting her shoulders droop for a moment; she never felt comfortable enough around Vegeta to show him, or indeed anyone, how much her limited movement was getting to her. The nagging thought that she might not make a full recovery ate at her, and her sleep was fitful and disturbed. Thinking about it made her eyelids start to droop, and she briefly touched her fingertips to the dark smudges beneath her eyes before taking in a deep breath and straightening in her seat.

As was usual for her, her thoughts began to drift as she continued to tinker with the device. Sometimes when she was working on simpler tasks, like the small updates she was doing now, a deeper level of her mind was freed to process things that were troubling her. Resolutely refusing to give any attention to her weak limbs, she instead let her mind churn over the events of the past two days.

Two days ago, she had made her pact with Vegeta. Two days ago, the doctors had given her the diagnosis she'd been dreading: she would walk again, but only if she worked hard at it. And two days ago, her father had given her the news that the company which had ordered the first design of the cutting-edge laser, to be used in performing tricky optic surgery, had heard about her frolic in the land of the almost-dead and had extended the deadline by a further five days, allowing her to order another of the tiny prisms so vital to the whole machine.

She frowned, delicately tweaking a rogue wire back into place, before letting her mind wander again. The frown returned when Vegeta's face swam to the surface. She remembered their agreement, and the conditions that came with it, with a wry mixture of amusement and resignation. His harsh, deep voice sounded again in her ears as she began to reassemble the spread-out parts of the contraption.

"Fine. But you _will _obey my conditions."

Bulma glared at him, jaw clenched, folding her own arms across her chest in an unconscious mimicry of his position. "I'm listening."

Vegeta leaned against the wall casually, his relaxed pose at odds with the hard, intent glitter of his coldly beautiful eyes. "You will not in any way interrupt my training, unless it is an emergency."

After a moment, Bulma nodded her head the tiniest fraction. It occurred to him that she behaved very much like royalty, despite being low-born; her mannerisms were instinctively imperial. Brushing aside such irrelevant thoughts, he continued, "You will fix the training devices you made for me to train with whenever they need fixing. That includes the gravity room and those pathetic tin cans you created."

He watched as the blue-haired woman bristled slightly, no doubt indignant at the slur on her work. He was not about to admit that although they were weak compared to him, the training droids were far more advanced than others he had seen on all but the most technologically developed planets. He waited while she thought it through.

"As long as you agree to knock before you come into the lab, that's fine." Her voice was even, but he could sense the irritation beneath her calm exterior, could see it in every move of her expressive face.

"Finally," he paused, watching as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing, "when you are recovered from this weakness, you will act as the personal maidservant in my rooms. I dislike having your robots handling my equipment."

Aware of the potential double entendre in his sentence, she felt her lips twitch for a moment before the reality of his words sank in. Her brows snapped down, her mesmerizing eyes suddenly burning with fury, but as she opened her mouth to let loose and went to advance on him, her legs wobbled precariously. Frozen before she could even begin to unleash the diatribe hovering on the tip of her tongue, she looked in mute appeal towards the Prince of Saiyans, widening her eyes and catching her lower lip between her teeth, a look which had always coaxed Yamcha into capitulating. It didn't work on Vegeta, however, who merely lounged against the wall and watched her with bored impassiveness.

As her limbs trembled again, she squeaked in fear before firmly snapping her jaws shut with an audible click. When her silent plea for help, as much of one as her pride would permit her to make, failed to move him, she snarled a curse under her breath. A pout formed on her lips that, unbeknownst to her, inspired more emotion in the silent Saiyan than her pathetic petition had done. As his eyes dropped to her tempting mouth, lust began to stir in him. He firmly pushed it away even as he inhaled her scent deeply, some part of him committing it to memory.

"Alright, I'll do it! But please, just get me down to the kitchen," she finally snapped, breaking him from his lascivious musings.

Realising that she was about to topple over, he grunted and pushed himself away from the wall, catching her against his side as she fell. He bent slightly at the knee and effortlessly swung her over his shoulder, her feet dangling down in front of him and her hands scrabbling for purchase in his back. Ignoring her angry, surprised protests, he carted her out the door and towards the source of food in her house, the slight sigh of grudging acceptance that reached his ears making him smirk in enjoyment.

Bulma was drawn back to the present by the quiet click of the final component in the laser sliding neatly into place. Looking down, she was faintly surprised, as she always was, to find that she had completed the majority of the work. Having taken apart, cleaned and tweaked each component, then reassembled the machine, the only thing left was to fasten the glass bubble into place, just behind the needle-like structure through which the laser beam itself would be funnelled, and that required her full concentration.

Banishing all other concerns from her mind, she took a deep breath to steady herself and reached for the fragile part. She picked up the tiny, specialized instrument that would be used to secure it once and for all. She had designed it herself for just this purpose. She pulled the protective glasses down over her eyes and bent low over the machine, sweat standing out on her forehead as she began the long, nerve-wracking process.

As time passed, distant sounds intruded into the lab, but none of them reached Bulma, who remained oblivious to anything but the incandescent flare of light from her sealing tool and the painstaking work beneath her steady, confident hands. Other workers, who would normally have informed her that they were leaving, felt the acute concentration radiating from her and stayed away; even those inexperienced interns who would have interrupted her otherwise were awed by her keen focus and they avoided her, passing her workstation in total silence.

Gradually the background hum of noise in the vast room became quieter, slowly fading into silence as even the machines shut themselves down for the night. Bulma worked on, hearing but not really registering the soft, distant sounds of footsteps as her parents put themselves to bed. Absorbed in the fascinating play of heat and science at her fingertips, she continued to labour long into the night. Vegeta, coming in from his training just after midnight, was surprised to hear the barely audible signs of activity from Bulma's lab. With a shrug, he finished his snack and went up to his bed.

It was early in the morning when the scientist finally released a long, satisfied breath and put down the soldering rod. Straightening on her stool, she winced as her spine cracked in protest at the movement after long hours of bending. Lifting the glasses away from her face, she blinked in the bright light of her powerful overhead lamp, tiredly trying to force the gritty feeling from her eyes. Carefully lifting the laser, she gave it a tiny smile of victory. The familiar but always welcome bubble of satisfaction expanded to fill her whole body, briefly eclipsing the savage aching in her scorched fingertips and the insistent throb of near-agony in her legs, which had been still and in the same position for far too long. Her doctors, she knew, would be having a heart attack. At least until it was one of them who needed the latest technology for an operation to cure or prevent blindness, anyway.

Groaning, she cradled the vital, soon-to-be-famous creation in her arms and, with her free hand, braced herself against the table. Whimpering slightly at the white-hot bolts of pain lancing through her legs, she leaned as much of her weight as was possible on her hand before beginning to awkwardly shuffle around her desk. It took her almost five minutes to make the journey, and she was gasping with a mixture of effort and what was now full-blown agony by the time she was able to reach the secure safe in the wall of her little alcove. Breathing heavily, she sat on the edge of her work bench and entered the combination, pressing her thumb against the small, glowing green screen asking politely for her to confirm her identity.

Settling the laser into the confines of the safe, next to the secure box which held her spare dragon radar, she shut the heavy door again, smiling tiredly as it beeped to tell her that the lock had been engaged. The smile faded when she realized that if she wanted to sleep the remaining hours of darkness, she would have to make the long journey upstairs to her bedroom. Just the thought made her legs give another sharp pulse of pain. She was about to call for Vegeta when she hesitated. She dimly recalled hearing him go to bed a few hours ago; he'd been training until midnight. Something in her softened slightly – although she knew that he had no fondness for Earth, he was training so hard in order to protect it from the shadowy threat of the androids. It would be poor thanks to take him from the little rest he afforded himself.

Gritting her teeth, she experimentally let a little weight transfer to her legs. The muscles tightened, but held. That wasn't so bad, she thought, knowing she was lying through her teeth, you can do this. Carefully, bit by bit, she let her legs bear the strain of holding her body up. Finally she stood, swaying slightly, with only one hand on the surface beside her. Taking a big, confidence-boosting breath, she released her hold on the table and took a step forwards. Almost immediately, tearing pain shot up the inside of her leg, making her hiss involuntarily.

Her mouth opened, ready to shout for Vegeta again, when the thought of his handsome, scornful face stopped her short. 'When you are recovered from this weakness,' he'd sneered. Imagining the contempt that would be allowed free rein over his face if she called for his aid, she forced herself to take another step.

It took her what seemed like hours to reach the lab doors, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. Ordering the lights to go out with a gasped command, she staggered out into the hallway and leaned gratefully against the walls. Half sliding along them, she made her way slowly, painfully through the house. Every time her determination wavered, she envisaged his savage scorn and his taunting voice calling her weak and pathetic, and somehow found the energy to go a little further, although she was by now no longer in a corridor and had no wall to brace herself against.

Halfway across the living room, only ten feet from the stairs, her legs gave out. She crashed to the floor, panting desperately for breath, her hair dirty and dishevelled, her clothes crumpled and damp with sweat, her legs feeling like they were on fire. Tears streamed down her cheeks, adding to the blurry, nightmarish quality of the world as her tired eyes slid in and out of focus. She began pulling herself forward, fatigue making her irrational, her whole world shrunk to reaching her bed at the top of the stairs, the goal seeming distant as she began to drown in a sea of agony. Her vision tunnelled, black spots appearing around her as a strange roaring sounded in her head above the harsh rasping of her breath in her lungs.

Dazed by exhaustion and pain, Bulma only vaguely felt strong arms wrap around her, a deep, growling voice swearing viciously somewhere overhead. Held in a firm but surprisingly gentle embrace, she was lifted effortlessly up the stairs and into her room. It felt like she was floating, detached from her body, which was adrift in a dark whirlpool of lethargy. She felt big, powerful hands laying her in her bed, pulling the covers up over her still-clothed body and, knowing she was safe, she succumbed to the welcome pull of darkness.

Vegeta looked down at the blue-haired female in her bed, her already pale face leeched of all colour by the moonlight, her usual radiance all but gone out. He had heard movement on the floor below and had quietly gone to investigate, tense in readiness for attack. Instead, he had seen the woman – Bulma, he reminded himself – crawling along the floor, face contorted with agony, her legs useless, dead weight behind her, her glassy eyes frighteningly void of any spark. Something in him noted the laboured, straining breaths and swelled with admiration for her courage, despite all his efforts to be objective.

She was human, weak and sentimental, but when she could have taken the easy way out, when she could have woken him by demanding he honour their agreement, she had instead opted to make her own way to her room, despite the obvious torture of her using her damaged legs. Her reckless bravery, her fierce determination, struck a chord in him. He found himself administering aid quietly, without his customary spiteful commentary, his hands gentle in recognition of her strength of will. She was human, and weak. But she had the soul of a warrior.

He unthinkingly saluted her in the Saiyan manner, with a fist touched once to his chest. He stopped cold when he realized what he had done and sneered in disgust at his thoughts. Not bothering to close the door behind him, he stalked from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The hordes of doctors, after administering as much of a scold as they dared to the legendarily tempestuous heiress, ordered that she keep strictly to her bed for three days. Privately, they were divided into two factions: those who admired Ms. Briefs' strength of mind and obvious dedication to her work, and those who thought her little more than a spoilt brat determined to get her own way. A rich one, of course, these critics amended once they had received vast bonuses from Mrs. Briefs for their services.

For the first day, Bulma was too tired by far to protest; she slept deeply, not troubled by even the wisp of a dream. When she did emerge from her near-catatonia, it was to swallow a little soup and as many of the prescribed painkillers as her body could stand. During the brief seconds between her waking and taking the pills, which sent her back to sleep again swiftly, her legs throbbed angrily with a mixture of pins and needles and the ache of over-taxed muscles. Whenever she became aware of it, the pain gnawed at her.

When she woke up midway through her second day of confinement, it had receded to a vague, constant prickle at the edge of her consciousness. She debated her need for the powerful pain-relief the pills afforded her but, reading the labels and seeing the strength of the chemicals they were made up of, she decided against it. It was her misfortune that her mother came sailing through the door just as she heaved her legs, with the strength born of sheer stubbornness, over the side of the bed and prepared to stand.

"Bulma!" Bunny said on a gasp, her blonde curls bouncing in agitation. "You get right back into that bed, missy! You're a bad girl!"

It occurred to the genius that her mother had a very vague grasp on reality, and that in the private world of Bunny Briefs she was still very much an irresponsible child. Ignoring the little voice which told her that disobeying the doctors' orders was just proof of this, she rolled her eyes.

"Mother," she said slowly, adopting the stern tone she used whenever one of the researchers failed to produce adequate results, "I have work to do. I can't afford to just sit in bed and look pretty."

"Well dear," Bunny cooed, smiling radiantly, "I must say, you look fine, but you do smell a little… shall we say 'ripe'?" When her daughter's mouth dropped open in shock, she continued brightly, "I have just the thing to cheer you up!"

As her mother whisked out the door, the bedridden scientist surreptitiously sniffed herself. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she realized that her mother was right. Stretching over to the table beside her bed, she lifted her portable computer and tapped in a few swift commands. Moments later, a robot trundled out of its storage compartment in her bathroom, wielding a can of deodorant in one hand and a bottle of the 'Blue' personal perfume she had ordered in the other.

"Good morning, Miss Briefs." The machine buzzed, its wheels locking in place and its body rising to the level of the bed as the mechanisms inside it hissed quietly.

She grunted a response and obligingly raised her arms. With a brisk, jerky sideways movement, the robotic maid doused her in deodorant, before liberally applying the perfume. Bulma coughed as she got a mouthful of it, hearing the chirpy, mechanical farewell as the little device rolled back to its base. Sighing in relief as she inhaled the sweet, fresh smell of the perfume, she lay back and closed her eyes, fighting to ignore the dull ache in her limbs.

So, I won't be allowed to shower until tomorrow evening at best, I have nothing to do except lounge in bed for a day and a half and my work is piling up as we speak. Could things get any worse?

"Bulma!" Her mother sang as she once again swept into the room, beaming with the wide smile that promised trouble. The genius' heart sank. "Guess who's come to visit!"

She heard the familiar, swaggering steps only seconds before the equally familiar head of black hair leaned around the door. Seeing the dismay on her face, Yamcha chuckled and sauntered into the room, happy to reassure her.

"You look fine, Bulma. There's no need to worry."

At the blank expression on her face, he preened slightly. As always happened when they broke up, he'd allowed her a little time and space before coming back, bearing a suitably remorseful demeanour and a bunch of pretty white lilies in one hand. Bulma sighed and mustered a polite smile, accepting the bouquet with a reluctant nod.

"Yamcha, I'm paralyzed, not dead," she said with a snort when she recognized the flowers.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Lilies? White lilies?" Seeing his continued bewilderment, she snorted again. "They're funeral flowers, Yamcha."

Seeing his scarred face crease with chagrin, she scolded herself silently for being so ungracious when he had come to make sure she was recovering. Patting the bed in invitation, she smiled again with more warmth. He took her hand in his, making her abused fingertips twitch as pain bit into them.

"How are you doing?" He asked quietly, ignoring her efforts to pull her hand from his, pretending not to notice them.

"I'm just great, Yamcha." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "I've been electrocuted, I've lost the use of my legs and now one of my friends is giving me flowers to rest on my coffin. Yes, all in all I think things are going well, don't you?"

He pulled back, genuine hurt in his features, making her close her eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm tired and stressed. It's not really a good time to be around me."

The former bandit smiled again, his undeniably handsome face brightening. "Why don't you come out with me tonight? You can get a wheelchair easily enough. It'll make you feel better."

Bulma gritted her teeth against the urge to snap that she wasn't an invalid, knowing that it would be a lie. Instead, she gave a strained smile as he took her hand in his again, trying to tug it from his insistent grip and ignore the hot pain of her burns. "I'm not allowed out of bed for another day." Then seeing the familiar expression of overdone sorrow on his face, she suddenly frowned. "Yamcha, I told you when we last broke up that that was it. You know I adore you as a friend, but nothing more."

Feeling the first stirring of anger, he unconsciously tightened his grip, making her gasp at the increased sting from her injuries. "I know what you said, but I know you didn't mean it. You never mean it. Come out with me when you've finished your bed rest. Please?" He raised his eyebrows and smiled beseechingly; it was a look that had never failed to get him what he wanted as far as Bulma was concerned.

Feeling her tiredness feed her irritation, she replied more sharply than she'd intended. "I said no! I'm tired. I think you should go now." She pulled harder at her hand, abandoning subtlety, but he didn't let go. "Yamcha! Let go of me!"

She looked up into his face, fighting back tears at the pain in her hand as he squeezed it. She could tell that he didn't mean to, his eyes were glazed over in thought, but the pressure was increasing steadily and white spots were dancing in front of her eyes. "You're hurting me! Let me _go_!"

Emerging from the GR for his lunch, Vegeta heard her shrill, panicked voice and paused. He debated whether leaving her to whatever trouble she was in would be breaking the terms of their agreement or not. The soft hiss of the door sliding shut behind him made him scowl at the thought of risking his only acceptable training space. Annoyed by the delay in satisfying his hunger, he jumped into the air and propelled himself up to the scientist's balcony. As he shoved open the glass door, ignoring its squeal of protest, he was hit by a wave of her now-familiar, alluring scent. The presence of a heavier, obviously masculine odour smothering it irritated him further still.

He took in the situation at a glance, his eyes flicking from the genius' pale, pain-ravaged features to the vacant stare of her former lover. Having his own satisfaction delayed by a domestic squabble did not help to alleviate his anger in any way. He grasped the former bandit by the shoulder, his other hand roughly breaking the grip he had on Bulma, who whimpered in relief, cradling her throbbing fingers to her chest. Yamcha started, blinking as he came out of his internal debate on whether or not she was serious, only to find himself promptly and inexorably pushed across the room towards the gaping door.

"Hey, wait! Bulma!" he appealed, suddenly struggling in his captor's grip. The hand on his shoulder clenched until he felt his bones creak in protest. Twisting his body, he caught a glimpse of spiky hair and irritated, coal-black eyes. "Vegeta!"

The Saiyan smiled, and the sinister expression made the former bandit shudder. "You are obviously not welcome in these chambers. As this female is under my protection, I shall take any further attempts to communicate with her as a direct attack on my honour."

Without affording Yamcha the chance to respond, Vegeta forced him out of the door and tipped him over the balcony rail. He watched with interest as the unwanted visitor plummeted towards the ground, catching himself only a few feet from a painful landing. He hovered there for a moment before touching down and scurrying over to his air car, disappearing out of the Capsule Corp. gates without a backwards glance.

Smirking, Vegeta turned back to observe the blue-haired scientist as she stared unseeingly at the lilies which whispered to one another in the breeze that the open door let in.

The sound of his mockingly amused voice startled her out of her thoughts. "You have poor taste in mates. Although I suppose that there is nothing to choose between these pathetic human males." He sniggered at the thought.

Expecting an angry retort, eager for the chance to best her in a contest of wit again, he grunted in disgust when she remained silent. Spinning on one immaculately booted heel, he headed for the door again, only to be stopped by the sound of her weary voice.

"Yamcha was never faithful to me. He was a liar, he cheated on me again and again, but at least I knew he wanted _me_. When we were together, he never asked for money or inventions or my influence."

Vegeta frowned, still with his back to her, and folded his arms, but his voice was uncharacteristically uncertain. "He was… unfaithful?"

She laughed, and it was a sad, hollow sound that grated on his ears and made something inside of him flinch. "Always." There was silence for a moment before she spoke again, curious and sceptical. "You sound like the concept's foreign to you. I don't believe that Saiyans were never unfaithful, as animalistic as they are."

The prince let his lip curl in disdain, though she couldn't see it. "Saiyans are creatures of honor! Once a Saiyan mates, they are monogamous for life. Any Saiyan who was unfaithful to their mate would be found out through their bond, and they and their _lover_," he made the word sound like poison, "would be killed by the warrior they had betrayed."

After a long pause, she gave a soft sigh that even his sensitive ears had to strain to catch. "Maybe Saiyan society was better than ours, in some ways."

He had to fight to keep the surprise from his face, though the effort was wasted on her; looking at his back was as informative as looking at a brick wall, she thought in exasperation. She had never before admitted that her own society was inferior to his. He felt himself soften towards her for a moment, struggling with the unfamiliar urge to offer her some sort of comfort. Appalled by his weakness, he clenched his hands into fists and gave his best sneer.

"It's good to see that you finally learn your place."

Ignoring her sharp intake of breath and the sudden hurt he could feel emanating from her, he prowled across the room and launched himself into the air. Just as he was going to resume his interrupted journey to the kitchen, he heard her hesitant, drained voice. "Could you close the door please, Vegeta? It's cold in here."

He remained still for a long moment, until she sighed in bitterness and turned away from him, pulling the bedcovers up around her neck. After a moment, she heard the quiet scrape of the door sliding closed, but when she managed to move her uncooperative legs enough to turn over, he was already gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The sweat was sliding down his back, leaving a trail of hot moisture that made his spine tingle beneath his skin. Ignoring it, he struck out again, counting silently in his head as his arm muscles stretched and bunched with each blow. _Nine thousand seven hundred and four… Nine thousand seven hundred and five…_ Each punch connected with only empty air, but in his mind's eye Vegeta saw the laughing, mocking faces of his enemies.

He picked up the pace, adding kicks now, his limbs moving in a blur until he was hovering in the air, performing the fluid, swift dance of death. _Nine thousand eight hundred fifty-five… Nine thousand eight hundred sixty…_Frieza cackled at him from a dark corner of his memories, taller now, seen from a child's perspective as his thick tail lashed out, striking a blow that sent his phantom self skidding painfully across the floor, the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, and all the time that high-pitched, gloating laughter echoed in his ears.

Remembered dishonour made a spike of resentment flare inside of him. Damn Frieza for leaving a permanent mark on his life, and damn Kakkarot for stealing his revenge from him! The thought of his fellow Saiyan made another bitter burn start up in his chest. Kakkarot, who was his social inferior in a world which no longer existed. Kakkarot, who had snatched from his hands the title of Super Saiyan as though it were some insignificant toy. Kakkarot, who had humiliated him time and again with his insufferable goodness and impossible strength. It was all about Kakkarot.

His jaws clenched in savage rage and concentration, the Saiyan spun in the air, snarling as a blast of energy pulsed from his hand, striking the wall of the GR and bouncing back at him. He dodged, extending the other hand and letting another orb of crackling power loose in the spherical room. It, too, began to jump around the chamber, the sizzling noise it made as it went audible to his keen ears. Bending, twisting, jumping, he evaded each move of the twin attacks, feeling their heat on his skin as they whizzed past him. After a few minutes he powered up a third missile, and it took all his concentration to escape unscathed as they rocketed around the room.

As he let himself fall backwards through the air, he caught a flash of blue in the corner of his eye. He involuntarily turned his head to watch the woman through her glass balcony doors as she glided into her bathroom in the wheelchair she had designed for herself. He had a brief moment to enjoy the hot flare of lust in his body at the thought of her bathing before pain exploded in his shoulder. Cursing violently, he shot backwards to avoid the second of the attacks, only to find himself colliding with the third, which he had forgotten about in his moment of distraction.

Feeling the burst of searing agony across his back, he howled in fury and whipped around, catching the last remaining orb against the palm of one hand and effortlessly crushing it into nothing. Panting for breath, he barked a command at the console, which beeped in obedience as the pull of gravity, three hundred times stronger than that of Earth, faded. Ignoring the flare of pain from his injured shoulder and back, he keyed in the command sequence to open the door and lock it behind him.

Casting aside the towel he had used to wipe the sweat from his face, he looked up and narrowed his eyes at the woman's balcony. Logically, he knew that it was his own fault for allowing such a physical weakness to distract him during his training, but he was far from prepared to admit that to himself. It was the work of a few seconds to float down onto the balcony and push open the door, which he knew she never locked.

In predatory silence he prowled across the room towards the entrance to her bathroom, the door of which was lying temptingly ajar; he inhaled the spicy scent of cinnamon as he went, noticing that it seemed stronger the nearer he drew to his target. Padding up to the door, he reached out to push it open when he caught sight of her through the gap and froze, the breath catching in his lungs.

Bulma lay in the vast bathtub she'd had installed for her private use, the soothing hum of the jacuzzi jets a background lullaby. Steam lay heavy in the air, enhancing the spicy smell he had come to associate with her, her natural vanilla sweetness an elusive wisp of scent in the air. Without realizing it, he inhaled deeply, letting the seductive scent of her fill him until he could almost taste her on his tongue. His hand clenched around the doorframe.

The bubbles that topped the hot water reached up to her chest, covering her with a maiden's modest veil, leaving the smooth, creamy flesh of her shoulders bare to his hot gaze. The slender column of her neck was temptingly nude, the soft blue strands of her hair swept up at the back of her head, a few delicate locks escaping to frame her face, relaxed and flushed from the heat. Her eyes opened slowly as she stretched, arching her back and making tiny kittenish noises that made his heart falter in its rhythm before it began to hammer against his ribs.

Her heavy-lidded gaze landed on a bottle near her right shoulder, and she twisted to reach for it. As her naked flesh rose into view, he silently cursed the ill-fortune that had placed her target on that side, leaving only the sleek skin of her back as compensation for his hungry eyes. His nostrils flared as she flipped open the lid, settling back into the water, though not before he caught a glimpse of the raspberry-pink nipples he suddenly ached to taste. The scent of cinnamon grew more powerful, and he realized that it must come from whatever substance she was daubing on her hand.

He had forgotten about her paralysis until she stilled, her face twisting into a bitter look of disgust as she reached down with her free hand and forced her leg up to rest on the side of the tub. The slow, seductive slide of the water over that slender limb made sweat break out all over his body. Then she leaned forward and, with a contented hum in the back of her throat, began to slide the cleansing liquid up her calf, massaging the flesh there with slow, languid movements that spoke of female satisfaction. Vegeta swallowed a tortured growl as she worked her hands higher, the hum becoming something like a purr as she reached her thigh, kneading the soreness from her muscles.

When her hand disappeared beneath the water, he was too caught up in the sensory stimulation at first to notice. Then a new scent made its way to his nose, and his formerly dry mouth was suddenly watering; the tantalizing, tangy scent of her arousal was like waving a red flag at a bull, and his Saiyan instincts were clawing to emerge at his proximity to a female in heat. Fighting against the need to go to her, he clenched his hands into fists, his body tensing as his eyes shut. Her soft moan brought his attention back to the bathroom, and reluctantly he let his eyelids rise.

Bulma let the delicious heat uncurl slowly through her body, her breath coming in quick gasps. In her mind's eye she saw hard, firm muscles and felt calloused hands drifting over her body, her faceless lover murmuring raw words of sex against her ear, even as his hands gently stroked her, leaving her teetering on the edge of completion. She felt his breath against the delicate shell of her ear, heard the commanding rumble of his voice and her fantasy self looked up into familiar dark eyes, sending her body tumbling over the edge into bliss as she sighed his name, her mind reeling from the impact of her imaginings.

Her little mewls of pleasure made him pant silently for breath, his stare burning with the desire to rut, his own arousal rapidly rising to meet hers, the scent of her driving him to distraction. Her head fell back against the rim of the tub, her eyes drifting closed as her cupid's-bow mouth twisted in an agony of delight.

Just as he thought he couldn't take any more without either going insane or storming in to claim her body for himself, her eyes snapped open and her back arched, thrusting the round fullness of her breasts into his view. As a shudder of fulfilled pleasure shook her sleek, glistening body she whimpered softly, moaning something that made his fist clench so hard he tore through the material of his glove, his nails biting into his skin, the ripping sound masked by her second, louder cry as another wave of ecstasy washed over her.

"Vegeta!"

As she sank back into the water, her every movement heavy with repletion, he backed away from the door, muscles rigid with tension. Spinning, he shot into the air and out through the door, frustration, anger and arousal churning in his stomach. He landed and stormed straight into his quarters, stripping out of the clinging material of his training suit and flinging himself down on the bed.

The moment his hand touched his erection, he saw her again, back arched, face contorted with satisfaction and pleasure, the water sliding sensuously over the lush curves of her body. With a low growl, he tightened his grip on himself, feeling the familiar tingling at the base of his spine which signified his imminent release. His jaw locking as his body tensed, he heard again her husky, passion-drugged voice as she called his name, and a burst of heat so intense it made black spots shoot across his vision shuddered through his body, a hoarse groan of pleasure on his lips.

The two lay quiet in their respective rooms, dazed by the power of their mutual satisfaction. Bulma closed her eyes, fighting fiercely to quell the voice that told her it was time to admit to her attraction to the deadly, beautiful alien she had taken into her home. As the water cooled around her, she braced her hands on the edge of the tub and lifted herself out, her weak legs made useless by the little frissons of pleasure still sizzling through her. As another robot wrapped a towel around her body and she slid backwards into the wheelchair, she saw a dark, haughty face and those cold, searching eyes, and a shiver of mingled fear and desire rippled across her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Vegeta lay on his bed, eyes still closed, allowing his heart to return to its normal rate as beads of sweat dried on his skin. For a few minutes he allowed his body to relax in boneless bliss against the mattress, his brow furrowed as he thought over the last few minutes. As a warrior who prided himself on power and control, this all-consuming reaction to a female, a _human_ female he reminded himself in contempt, was disconcerting. After reflecting on it for a moment, he firmly told himself that it was only because he had gone so long without sharing a bed with a woman.

He rose to his feet, unmindful of his nudity, and made his way into the bathroom, clearing away the evidence of his weakness. Catching sight of his own bathtub out of the corner of his eye, he stared at it in silence for a long minute before snarling at his reflection and stomping back into the bedchamber, slamming the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Bulma lay on her back, one leg flat against the floor, the other bent at the knee as tightly as she could get it to go with her limited muscle control. The man who crouched next to her foot smiled encouragingly. "Good! Well done, Ms. Briefs, that was an excellent first attempt."

The heiress grunted as she straightened her leg out, feeling the uncomfortable, pins-and-needles sensation she had become accustomed to spreading down from her hips. Ignoring the sickeningly cheerful smile on the physiotherapist's face, she gritted her teeth and began to raise the other knee. She managed to get her foot nearly half way to her buttocks when her strength deserted her. She wanted to howl with frustration.

"Don't be too upset." Mr. Handley soothed, his expert fingers skating along her calf muscle, probing and testing. "It's perfectly normal for you to have some difficulty when the nerve centre has suffered a sudden shock. Now, I want you to relax. If you tense up and resist the movement, it'll become painful. This will feel uncomfortable, but if it hurts, I want you to shout and I'll stop. You need to rebuild your muscle control and strength gradually."

He wrapped a calloused hand around her slender ankle and began to firmly push her foot up towards her body, his other hand resting lightly on her knee to check how smoothly it flexed. The genius fought to take deep, even breaths, commanding her body to relax despite the burning ache that was building in her thigh muscles. When her foot had moved six inches closer to her body, the ache became a sharp, sudden twinge and she yelped involuntarily.

Instantly the pressure eased as the physio let her foot slide down until her leg was on the floor. He pursed his lips, tapping the fingers of one hand on the floor as he thought, until Bulma wanted to scream with frustration. Finally, he blinked and smiled down at her.

"We're going to need to do some more stretching; I want to test the degree of atrophy in the muscles, which will weaken whilst you aren't using them. Then I'll have a quick look to see if there's any underlying tissue damage, though I'd imagine that with electrocution the problem is most likely neural, and we'll just need to keep the muscles strong while you recover."

So saying, he began to push Bulma through a routine that she was willing to bet had been a successful torture in the murky realms of history. Always smiling, so much that she wanted to punch him in the face, he made her raise her legs from the hips and hold them in the air for ten seconds, an exercise which made sweat break out on her face; lift first one leg and then the other in a rhythm ten times; and make small circles in the air with first her foot, then her lower leg, then the whole of her limb. Sweating, red-faced, Bulma grunted in relief when she finished that exercise. By now her legs felt like they were on fire, and her lips were pressed tight together to resist shrieking in agony.

"Now!" The physio said, his smile stretching even wider. "We just have one last exercise to do. I'm afraid I'm going to have to help you with this one, Ms. Briefs."

He gently wrapped an experienced hand around her ankle, lifting and pushing her leg so that it bent at the knee, then folded up towards her chest. The stretching sensation was almost unbearable, her tight muscles protesting the movement, but she ignored it as best she could, instead staring at the ceiling and reciting the stages of the blueprints for the GR.

Seeing the blank look on her face and the fresh sweat that had broken out on her face, he began to ease her leg down from the curled position, his voice worried. "I think we'll leave that one there. Maybe we'll try the more advanced stage next time."

"No!" Bulma snarled, the pain and her frustration bursting forth.

Mr. Handley smiled uncertainly. "I'm sorry, Ms. Briefs, but it is my professional opinion that performing that exercise would do more harm than good."

He was still leaning over her, balanced on the balls of his feet, and her temper exploded in a fit of childish rage. Her lips parted on a wordless wail of misery and she slammed her fists against the carpet, the leg not under his hand sweeping violently sideways in a jerky movement. It caught the physiotherapist in the small of his back, sending him tumbling forwards. As her leg was forced tightly against her chest under his weight, pain ripped through her body, her vision going black. The wail faltered, and then she screamed so loudly it felt like her throat was on fire.

Down in the GR, Vegeta heard her agonized shriek.

"Initiate shutdown!" he barked, already heading for the door. The low buzz of the gravity-enhancing machinery faded mere seconds before he shot up into the open air, heading for Bulma's room as the echo of her scream resounded in his ears.

When he landed on the balcony, he was wound tight with caution. What he saw when he looked through the clear glass door, however, was enough to banish all traces of hesitation. His eyes locked on the figure of the man sprawled atop Bulma's limp body, one of her legs forced up to her chest, the other splayed out to one side, and a red haze dropped over his vision.

He didn't register the almighty crash when he wrenched the door off its hinges, the glass shattering on the lawn twenty feet below. All he knew was that the Saiyan instincts he had feared would become eroded during his time on the peaceful, pitiful planet Earth were suddenly screaming to the fore, roaring in ungovernable fury.

It was the work of a moment to reach their side, the physiotherapist's face turning pale as a ruthlessly powerful hand grabbed him by the shoulder and plucked him from his ungainly position. The dark eyes boring into him were inhuman in their savagery, the low, harsh voice an animal snarl.

"The woman is mine, human! How dare you touch her?"

His grip tightened in preparation for choking the life from the babbling man when he heard her voice, weak and dazed. Still operating on instinct, he tossed the therapist to one side, ignoring the sharp reek that told him the man had wet himself from terror.

"Vegeta?"

He bent over her, using one hand to straighten her still-bent leg with an abrupt kind of gentleness as he used the other to lift her into a sitting position before straightening up. "What have you gotten yourself into, woman?"

Although his voice was an irritated bark, the genius had to blink at the underlying concern. "I… I was having my physiotherapy session, but I don't remember… What happened?"

Although most of the rage had faded from his expression, his scowl had already returned. "I was training in the GR when your shrieking interrupted me. I came here prepared to shut you up and found that pathetic weakling pinning you to the floor."

Confused, her eyes darted across to the slumped form of the physiotherapist, unconscious from his collision with the wall. Abruptly, her own eyes widened. "Oh Kami!"

Seeing the woman's horror, Vegeta resisted the urge to preen smugly. He had saved her miserable hide, after all, if only because her screeching had disturbed his training. His eyes trailed lasciviously over her bare legs. Perhaps she would give him a reward…

"Vegeta? Vegeta!" Her sharp tone cut through his thoughts.

"What is it, woman?"

To his surprise, her expression softened, the beginnings of a peculiarly shy smile curving her full lips. His eyes dropped to those plump pink cushions, his muscles once more tensing against the need to haul her into his arms. _What is the matter with me? I am the Prince of Saiyans, I cannot be drawn to a weakling human. I _shall_ not! _Once again, her voice pulled him from his burgeoning self-disgust.

"Thank you for coming to save me, Vegeta. Even though it wasn't really necessary!"

Her teasing tone grabbed his full attention and his fists clenched. Bulma's smile wavered. "You mean to tell me that you interrupted my training with your caterwauling for no reason?"

Although his voice was soft, the look in his eyes made her swallow hard. "I couldn't help it. It was an accident!" Suddenly recovering some of her old fire, she glared back at him. "Honestly, Vegeta, it's not like five minutes of your precious time will make that much difference."

He erupted. "How dare you? You think to bring me to heel like some trained pet? You think that my training is less important to me than your insignificant, puny human life?" As he spoke, he advanced until he was looming directly over her, eyes flat and cold with fury, fingers reaching out to caress her shoulder in a chillingly gentle touch. Even as she shuddered, her body began to heat, an aching pulse suddenly throbbing between her legs. "I am no tame pretender to humanity like Kakkarot. Do you think that because I desire you I would go out of my way to aid you?" All of a sudden, the hand on her shoulder was wrapped around her neck, forcing her chin up, forcing her to meet the deadness behind his eyes. "You would do well to remember that I am not one of your human consorts to be so controlled by your body. You may be exotically attractive by your race's standards, but on my planet you would be an outcast and a freak, if you were not killed at birth! From now on, you will remember that I am a Saiyan of the royal house of Vegeta, and that you are nothing more than the scum beneath my boot."

With a final contemptuous sneer, he whirled and disappeared through the gap where he door used to be. Staring after him, Bulma sat in utter silence for a long time. The sting of his words was like acid, eating away at the fragile confidence she had spent so many long years building for herself. Although she knew that her striking blue hair and pale skin made her different, she had always been determined not to let her fear show; she had always carried off her unusual looks with a blasé kind of arrogance, knowing that confidence was the difference between 'exotic' and 'weird'. People had come to expect her to be self-centered and convinced of her beauty, and she had found herself living up – or perhaps down – to those ideals without conscious thought. But inside, she was often troubled by the frankly bizarre appearance that she had pulled off with such aplomb, and after her accident and the crushing sense of despair that hovered on the horizon, she was surprised to find her confidence teetering perilously.

Defiantly sniffing back her tears, she turned to glare at the shattered doorframe before she froze. Long minutes passed in silence before slowly, uncertainly, a smile began to grow on her face.

_Do you think that because I desire you…_ Not 'your body'. Just 'you'. The hard lump in her throat softened and melted, her eyes once again trailing over the damaged balcony doorway with a kind of dazed wonder. Without her knowledge, the hand she had raised to her chest brushed softly over the area where his fingers had grasped her throat. The light touch confirmed her suspicion: although he had been intending to intimidate her, much as he had that first night when he had sucked the glass splinters from her finger, he had left not a single bruise.

Realization came crashing down, however, when her absently roaming eyes fell on the crumpled figure of Mr. Handley. Her eyes widened again at the knowledge that she had no way of getting help, either for herself or for her unfortunate physiotherapist.

"Crap!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

In the three months following her first disastrous physiotherapy session, Bulma pursued her goal with the same relentless single-mindedness with which Vegeta pursued his. She worked long, painful hours at her exercises, pushing and stretching muscles that were slowly regaining their former strength, slowly but surely rebuilding the neural pathways that her accident had damaged; several times she had to be forced to limit the amount of time she spent working on her recovery by her mother, whose usually cheerful nature could change instantly into that of a tigress at the thought that her daughter was putting herself in harm's way.

Vegeta's training continued apace; when Bulma was not in the special gym they had had built for her, she was engrossed in creating new upgrades and devices for the Saiyan to test himself against. She would never have admitted it, either to the arrogant price or to her father, but the necessary limitations of creating technology for human use, which could not be so advanced that it aroused suspicion, had begun to wear at her. After all, when she frequently claimed genius status she was not being conceited, merely truthful, and not being able to exert the full force of her intelligence on her projects had become tiresome.

When she collapsed into bed every night, she was far too exhausted to register the outside world. On this particular Friday evening, she had spent the majority of the morning in her gym, striving to improve her muscle control with the aid of several weighted bands and purpose-built machines. After a brief lunch break, she had made her way slowly down to the lab. As always, she recalled the minutes of agony she had once spent crawling along these same halls trying to find her way back to her bed with a shudder. She was relieved that she had at last regained enough strength to walk short distances aided only by the slender black cane that had been adjusted to bear much more of her weight than the average walking stick. It was also unquestionably elegant, for which she was fervently thankful.

It had been late by the time she completed the plans for the latest update on the GR. Her eyes ached from hours of staring into the huge computer screen which displayed her many calculations, her fingers sore from their ceaseless dancing across the keys. When she grasped her cane and went to stand, she had to bite back a spike of fear as her legs wobbled precariously for a moment before they steadied.

Twenty minutes later, she had finally made her way up to her room. Her body throbbed with fatigue as she pulled off her clothes, leaving herself clad in just her panties and a thin silk chemise. Too tired to bother any further, she collapsed into bed and instantly sank into dreamless sleep.

As he had every night for the last month, Vegeta listened for the sound of her heavy steps on the staircase from his position on the roof above her bedroom. He had left the lights on in the GR, as always, covering his tracks should she ever find the energy to glance out across the garden before she slept, though she had not yet. As soon as he heard her breathing even out, the peculiar tension that brought him here every night without fail relaxed, freeing the hard knot in his chest. On noiseless feet, he drifted down from the roof and landed lightly on her balcony.

When she had had the glass door he had broken weeks ago repaired, she had obligingly neglected to have a new lock put on it; accustomed still to thinking in human terms, she had felt secure enough in the almost impenetrable grounds of Capsule Corp to leave the portal unfastened. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he gingerly slid it open and stepped inside, his sharp eyes catching the shiver that rippled through her sleeping body. Absent-mindedly, he reached back and shut the door, his attention riveted on the woman.

Even as he approached, drawing in that maddeningly alluring sugar and spice scent, he gritted his teeth. A part of him, the more rational level of his consciousness, was infuriated by the strange fascination he found in her. When he stood looking down the length of her lushly curved figure, his fists clenched at the internal battle raging within him. But he knew, as always, that the deeper part of him, the sheer animal instinct that was so strong in his race, would be victorious.

At first the battle had been easily won, his primal feelings soothed by a brief nightly check of her ki to ensure that she was safe. But as the days progressed, the beast inside began to grow louder and more demanding, and with every upsurge of feeling he crept a little bit further into her room, until at last he was forced to this, standing at her side and watching over her like some lovesick weakling, a slave to the demands of his instinct. If he tried to leave before dawn, the very basest fibres of his being would rise up in furious protest, commanding him to protect that which was his.

He was drawn back to the present by her soft sigh of contentment. She rolled over, turning her moonlit face to his, and at once the savage beast inside him began to purr. Her features were relaxed in sleep, a tender smile curving her full lips as she murmured wordlessly under her breath. Some unnamed emotion caught in his chest and he reached out a steady finger to flick a strand of hair away from her face, his own unreadable.

He remained there, watching her with fixed and unwavering eyes, until the first rays of light broke over the horizon.

When Bulma made her cautious way down the stairs the following morning, her mother was waiting with breakfast already laid out. She smiled weakly at the cheerful greeting she was given, her own eyes riveted to the coffee pot steaming gently on the table. Several cups later, when she felt more human, she suddenly realized that her usually bustling mother was standing still, her own gaze fixed with unnervingly intense scrutiny on her daughter.

"Uh, Mom?" The genius had to fight the urge to shuffle her feet guiltily under the weight of that stare. "You're freaking me out."

"Oh!" Bunny exclaimed, beaming brightly once more. "Oh dear, I'm sorry. I was just wondering if we should put you in your wheelchair for the charity benefit ball tonight, since you won't have a partner to lean on."

Bulma froze, food forgotten, as she stared at her mother. All of a sudden, the event invitation loomed in her mind's eye and she groaned, her head falling into her hands. The cream of society would be there, dancing and gossiping beneath the keen scrutiny of the media. Those who had made the largest donations were the ones whom the tabloids would be keenest to criticize. As always, Capsule Corp had made perhaps the most substantial contribution to the city council's chosen charity, NOODLE. Although she would never call herself vain, there was no way she could stand being wheeled around the ballroom whilst everyone laughed behind their hands at her predicament. Her pride simply wouldn't take it.

As her mother prattled on, conjuring nightmare visions of her imminent humiliation, the scientist's mind was working furiously at the problem. The solution presented itself not two minutes later, just as her mother excused herself with a tinkling laugh and swept from the room. She paused in the doorway to give Vegeta's bicep an admiring pat, which the blushing Saiyan ignored in favour of the food awaiting him.

It took much longer for him to become cognizant of the fact that the woman was staring at him, mainly because he was engrossed in feeding and because he was ruthlessly forcing himself to ignore her. However, when she cleared her throat tentatively, he was so surprised by her apparent meekness that his eyes involuntarily flicked up to meet hers.

Cursing himself silently, he dropped his fork and barked, "What is it, woman?"

Taking a firm grip on her temper, reminding herself that she wanted his help, she replied, "I wondered if you would care to make another deal with me, Vegeta."

His suspicions were instantly aroused by her courteous tone, but his natural arrogance and inbuilt sense of duty made him nod regally for her to continue. "I am listening, Earthling."

"I need an escort tonight to a ball. Would you care to accompany me?" The words were delivered with just a touch too much sweetness, but her blue eyes were silently begging him for aid, which surprised him; surely her apparent desperation was disproportionate to her request?

"What benefit is there to me in taking you to this ball?"

"Not in appearing at the ball itself, but afterwards."

For a moment he stared, then a smirk spread across his face, his eyes dropping to skim her bosom lasciviously. "If you wanted _that_, woman, why did you not say so before? I would not be adverse to taking you as a concubine."

Calmness flew out the window. "How dare you! That's not what I was suggesting at all, you arrogant pig." She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the hectic color rising in her cheeks. "I meant what I could make for you afterwards."

Still smirking, he tilted his head imperiously. "You already make for me all that I require due to our earlier arrangement. I see no reason why I should agree to attend this farcical amusement."

He rose, clearly ready to leave, and she panicked. "Wait! I meant armour."

Vegeta froze, only turning his head to glare at her with an intensity that had been absent for many weeks; little shivers of fear traced down her spine. "What do you know of battle armour, woman?"

"It's special to you, isn't it? Saiyans, I mean. We've been decoding and translating the files we took from King Cold's ship, and I found a whole file of information on Saiyans." Her eyes locked onto his, noting with relief that the malice had gone from his eyes. "I looked at the armour designs in the pictures there and at the plans. I think I could recreate them."

She held her breath as his face remained impassive. However, his thoughts were whirling madly. She did not, could not, know the significance of what she was offering him. On his home planet, all armour was made specifically for a warrior once he had proven himself in combat; depending on his rank and ability, different patterns, colours and even materials were used to declare the standing of the warrior. One of the ways Frieza had sought to humiliate him was to make him wear the standard armour that was given to those warriors who only passed the most basic level of training.

The other thing he doubted she knew was that armour was a particularly valuable bonding gift. Women on his planet were rarely raiders, though those who were strong enough were welcome to fight alongside their men. Instead, they remained behind whilst the men were out on purging or other missions, guarding and tending to the welfare of the planet. Whilst they could and did fight if necessary, most made weaponry and supplies or farmed animals or land for food.

Saiyan men were banned from making their own armour, simply because it was of so much importance in delineating their status. The secret of Saiyan battle wear was passed down from woman to woman, only the most skilled being declared fit to produce the final products. As a result, a Saiyan woman with appropriate skill could present to the man she wanted as her mate a suit of armour; if it was poorly made or did not please the male, he would reject the gift and the woman's suit, so few females chose it as their bonding gift. And armour fit for a prince would be almost impossible to make to his satisfaction. But at the unintentional symbolism of her gesture, the beast inside him purred in delight.

Now when he looked at her, he could not help but see her in the light of a potential mate. _Have I been fooling myself? There is no possibility that a suitable mate will be found for me; my people are gone, and with them any hope of the purity I had sought to maintain. _His eyes flickered over her, assessing. She was undeniably beautiful, particularly by Saiyan standards, even though she had no tail. Although she was weak physically, a fact which should disgust him, he had often found himself admiring the determination and strength of her warrior's spirit. There would be, too, the added bonus that he knew their races to be compatible, and that she would be obliged to continue to assist him with his training if he took her as his mate; just as he would have to protect her and her property, she would have to nurture and aid him whenever he demanded it.

Bulma was still waiting edgily for his response. Strangely, it felt like the atmosphere between them had shifted with her question, the air heavy with a kind of tension that she didn't understand. His answer was a long time in coming, and when it did she felt another shiver ripple over her skin, though this time she did not know if it was fear or something else.

"Very well. We have a deal."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Sooo... Long time no see. Found this on my computer today and inspired to finish it off, having long since lost the original!

**Chapter 9**

Bulma pursed her lips, eyeing her reflection critically in the mirror. Her makeup was simple, only a touch of colour on her cheeks and a few deft strokes of eyeliner that enhanced the wide oval shape of her eyes. A clear gloss slicked her lips, making them gleam invitingly as she smiled. Her hair was piled atop her head, baring her throat and the midnight blue ribbon that spanned it, the centrepiece of which was a lone Mazarin cut diamond. With a frown she teased free a couple of curls, which fell to frame her face. Performing a final inspection, she smiled smugly to herself. She looked elegant and sophisticated, not at all like the defeated little girl they were expecting to see.

As a gentle alarm trilled somewhere in the bedroom, she grabbed her cane and made her way towards the door. As she crossed the room, light footsteps made their way down the hall. Bulma paused to close her eyes. _Kami, please let Vegeta behave himself tonight._ The struggle had started that afternoon, when he'd discovered the tuxedo she'd had the robots lay out for him.

"Woman!" The enraged bellow echoed through the halls.

Bulma paused in the last minute adjustments of her cane. "What is it, Vegeta?" she bellowed back.

The Saiyan obviously locked onto the direction of her voice. She could hear scientists scattering as he stormed into the labs, unerringly homing in on her where she sat half-hidden behind an enormous screen. She hurriedly smacked a key and the screen went blank just in the nick of time. Hurricane Vegeta whirled to a stop just behind her desk, a vein throbbing in his temple. In his hand he clutched a classic black tuxedo.

"Woman," he snarled, "What is this?"

"It's your outfit for the ball tonight," she replied calmly, gritting her teeth to keep her temper in check.

"I will not wear this Earthling costume! I am a prince of the house of Vegeta; I will not appear in public unless I am dressed accordingly!" He folded his arms, his voice icy. "You will procure for me suitable garments or I will not attend this ball."

Bulma gave an exasperated sigh, slamming the cane down onto the desk and bracing her weight on both hands. "Look Vegeta, that outfit is perfectly suitable by our customs. You'll be better dressed than every other man there, okay? I wouldn't have the first idea about appropriate Saiyan clothing anyway and it would be far too late to get any made."

A low growl built in his chest. "Fine. You may attend the ball alone."

Even as he spun around to leave, Bulma lurched to her feet. "Fine! But don't expect me to make your armour, oh mighty prince. If you're going to abandon the deal, then so am I!"

Vegeta stopped. His fists clenched, further crushing the clothing he carried. After a moment he spun to face her and Bulma felt her anger draining away. There was rage in his eyes, but there was something else too, something dark and hollow.

"Woman," he gritted out, "It is a disgrace on my house for me to appear in anything other than the colours of Saiyan royalty. If that means forsaking my battle armour, so be it."

He turned to leave and Bulma lifted a hand before she could stop herself. "Wait!"

He came to a halt but remained facing away from her. Her voice softened. "Look Vegeta, I wasn't lying when I said it would be nearly impossible to get anything else for you to wear at this short notice. But we can make some adjustments to a tuxedo. What colours do you need to wear?"

For a long time silence stretched between them. Then, without looking at her, he replied, "Blue and crimson."

"Okay, I can work with that. I'll have the robots lay it out for you when it's done, okay?"

Vegeta responded with a grunt, disappearing from the lab with a surge of energy.

A knock on the door brought Bulma out of her reverie. With a last wish for luck, she crossed the room and opened the door.

"Okay, we're on time so far," she began, only for her voice to trail off into silence, her mouth remaining slightly open in a little 'o' of surprise.

Vegeta stood outside her door, scowling ferociously. He was dressed in the tuxedo she had ordered adjusted to his requirements. It was extremely severely cut, the tailored lines accentuating the broad strength of his body and the harsh planes of his face. The suit itself was so dark a blue it was almost black, the rich material gleaming against his olive skin. He wore a slender tie of the same colour, stark against a crisp white shirt. Beneath the jacket he wore a silk waistcoat in a deep crimson. When she'd seen the outfit, she'd been worried it would look odd, as used as she was to black and white formal wear. However, on him it looked absolutely right.

Vegeta too was stunned, his scowl easing as his eyes trailed over the woman's figure. She wore a dress in a similar colour to his suit, a contrast against her pale skin. The tightly fitted bodice clung faithfully to the contours of her torso, the square neckline saving it from indecency and turning it instead into sexy sophistication. The skirt dropped away from her waist in a smooth column, overlaid with a light, semi-sheer material that swirled around her legs as she walked. A streak of tiny diamonds began at her right hip and swept up between her breasts towards her left shoulder. They were scattered down the right of her skirt too, forming swirls and stars. She leant on her cane, now a dark blue to match her dress with a single diamond atop the handle.

They stared at each other in silence until Vegeta gave a grunt. The spell broken, Bulma blushed.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped, self-consciously brushing at a loose curl.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "You look less disgusting than usual, Earthling. That at least lessens the shame of appearing beside a human."

Temper roused, Bulma clenched her fists. "Let's just get this over with. And for Kami's sake, Vegeta, don't do anything to embarrass me."

His sneer abruptly faded, his expression suddenly cold. "Woman, I am a prince of an ancient royal line. I was trained to diplomacy from the cradle."

"Oh yes, you can easily tell," Bulma responded sweetly. "Why, I've never met such a polite and diplomatic man in my life!"

His eyes narrowed, suddenly burning with rage. "Do not mock me, human. If I was to die at the hands of my enemies, it was to be fighting for the honour of the Saiyan race, not cowering like some mewling weakling about diplomacy and fairness. Fairness! Pah."

Deliberately looking her in the eye, he spat at her feet and turned away, stalking ahead of her down the hallway.

_Oh Kami, what have I gotten myself into?_ Bulma thought, stepping around his saliva with a disgusted curl of her lip.

They walked down to the entrance in stony silence. Bulma thought he was going to continue that way outside, but to her surprise he stopped at the door and waited for her. As she drew level with him, he held out one arm in an old-fashioned gesture. When she just stared at it, he growled and grabbed her free hand, yanking it up to rest in the crook of his elbow. Bemused, Bulma was still staring at him as he opened to door and escorted her outside.

The Capsule Corp. grounds were lit up with hundreds of tiny lights, flickering flames captured in little glass spheres that floated a foot above the ground. Bulma eyed them with a smile. Sometimes it was nice to make something for no other purpose than pleasure, and the little lanterns were a project she had completed soon after their return from Namek, when she had needed a reminder of the beauty the world could offer.

Vegeta led her through the gardens along the path lined by the lanterns. As they rounded the final corner, the marquee came into view. The massive white tent was decorated with more of the fairy lights. Climbing plants spread delicate fingers up its side, silver and green ivy made beautiful by the moonlight. Either side of the door miniature gardens lined the path, made up of dark, leafy green ferns and delicate snowdrops.

As they approached, an impeccably dressed butler appeared outside the tent. He smiled as he saw Bulma; the man had been serving as the Capsule Corp. major-domo since she was a child.

"Miss Briefs, you look beautiful," he murmured.

"Thank you, Peters."

"May I announce you?" he enquired.

"Of course," she responded with a smile.

He waited for a moment, then, "And your escort?"

"Oh, of course!" Bulma laughed. "What an idiot, huh? My guest is Prince Vegeta."

Peters started to move off, but Vegeta shot out an arm and caught him by the shoulder.

"The correct way to announce me is as Prince Vegeta, of the house Vegeta," he rumbled, casting a glare at Bulma that dared her to disagree.

Bulma smiled at him, touching his arm lightly in apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was wrong. Peters, it's Prince Vegeta, of the house Vegeta and Miss Bulma Briefs."

Although he didn't look at her, she could feel some of the tension ease from Vegeta's muscles under her fingers. She had deliberately put his name first, knowing that he was very sensitive to that sort of nuance.

Peters slipped inside the tent. After a moment the ring of his voice cut through the murmur of conversation from inside.

"Prince Vegeta, of the house Vegeta and Miss Bulma Briefs."

She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. Leaning more of her weight against Vegeta's arm, she took a step forward. Vegeta matched her and they glided into the fringes of the crowd.

Her smile instantly became strained. It felt like every eye had instantly riveted to the cane in her hand; her knuckles turned white where she gripped it. Vegeta felt the slight tremble of her fingers against his arm and turned his head to look at her, ignoring the plebeian masses gawping at them. He frowned when he saw her shoulders begin to hunch defensively.

For her ears alone, he growled, "Do not embarrass me, woman. Lift your chin and stare them down. You are the consort of a Saiyan prince tonight. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Bulma's smile eased, becoming more natural. Her fingers smoothed the creases she had made in his sleeve, her posture straightening. When she met the stares of those around her with a coolly raised brow, they sheepishly looked away. Vegeta smirked and led her out into the crowded room.

The night passed magically for Bulma. True to his word, Vegeta was impeccably behaved. His natural haughtiness only served to persuade the gossipmongers of his royal lineage; it would have been inappropriate, they blithely agreed, for royalty to treat them as equals. Nobody wanted to be the first to admit that they had never heard of Vegeta or his family.

Although he didn't deign to converse with those mingling around them, he remained steadfastly at Bulma's side. At one point, however, he noticed her easy smile suddenly tighten. His sensitive ears picked up the creak of her champagne glass as her grip around it increased. With a roll of his eyes, he plucked the abused item away from her before she humiliated them both by breaking it.

"Mrs O'Grady," Bulma chirped in a tone of voice all too familiar to the prince, "How lovely to see you at our party. I didn't realise you had been invited."

Vegeta looked up, directly into the overflowing bosom of a middle-aged woman. She was encased in a snugly fitting red dress that boosted her assets considerably, highlighting both her admirable chest and her long, slender legs, as the dress ended just above her knees. Her lips, also painted bright red, stretched into a smile. Vegeta was perturbed to see that the rest of her face remained still.

"Why Bulma, how lovely you look! And what a fetching walking stick," she simpered with a girlish giggle. "I wouldn't worry about it, my dear. I'm sure you'll grow out of that bothersome clumsiness as you get older."

Bulma's smile became even sweeter. "If I have any questions about the ageing process, I'll be sure to ask you, Paula."

Vegeta had, of course, caught on to the fact that Bulma intensely disliked their brash visitor. With a bored expression on his face, he murmured, "Perhaps we should move along before you are reduced to brawling, woman."

Mrs O'Grady gave another tinkling laugh, leaning towards Vegeta to rest a bold hand on his chest and turning her back to Bulma, effectively shutting her out of the conversation. "Oh your Highness, how very droll! I would never be so uncouth, I assure you."

Vegeta allowed his eyes to trail over her tight dress, pausing at her readily exposed bosom. When he met her eyes again, he raised one eyebrow meaningfully. Her smile abruptly faded and she stepped back.

He turned to Bulma with an indifferent shrug. "Woman, why did you not mention to me that your father had procured such entertainment for this infernal gathering? I could have advised him that he was wasting his money on spoiled goods."

Bulma had to bite back a snicker of laughter. With a straight face she replied, "I'll be certain to mention it to him, Vegeta, but I'm fairly certain no money would be required in exchange for those services. She looks ready to offer them for free."

The woman gave an outraged gasp, her cheeks mottling with embarrassment. "Well, I've never been subjected to such rudeness in my life!" She pointed a quivering finger at Vegeta. "You sir are no gentleman!"

He tilted his head, giving her a cool stare. "I am not. However, gentlemanly conduct is only required when you are addressing a lady. Shall we, Bulma?"

And with a final benevolent smile, the heiress was borne away on her unexpected champion's arm.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I'm on a roll with this story. Really pleased with how this chapter turned out, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Chapter 10**

In the weeks after the ball, a tentative truce seemed to have formed between Bulma and her surly houseguest. The genius smiled as she ran through her leg exercises; although the exertion made her sweat and curse most days, she couldn't deny that pushing herself had made her progress far faster than anybody had guessed she would. She'd taken a leaf out of Vegeta's book there. In the time since the Capsule Corp. benefit, he'd hardly paused in his training except to eat. Even sleeping seemed to take second place to his time in the GR.

Chagrined to feel so lazy in comparison, Bulma had thrown herself into both her physical recovery and her special project in the lab. It had been three months since the ball and she was now walking unaided most of the time. Only when she was tired did she resort to using her cane. Her other project wasn't going quite so well, but she was getting there slowly, determined to keep up her end of the deal. At the thought, her smile faded slightly. The ball had been a magical experience, but she couldn't decide how she felt about how it had ended.

Vegeta had behaved admirably well for the rest of the night. Bulma, however, had decided not to push her luck. About an hour before the party was due to end, she leant a little more heavily against his arm. Without looking at her, Vegeta grunted a query.

"My legs are getting tired," she murmured through her social smile, "I don't want anybody to realise how hard this is for me. Let's get out of here."

Vegeta only gave another grunt in response, but he shifted his arm so that it rested around her waist. For a moment, panic swum in Bulma's chest. His arm was as solid and unforgiving as rock, the incredible strength of it nearly suffocating her. But then he turned his head to look at her, a frown forming on his face. All of a sudden it no longer felt oppressive but comforting and secure.

Bulma had to bite down a nervous giggle. _Okay, you know you're tired when you begin to associate words like 'comforting' and 'secure' with Vegeta!_

She allowed the firm pressure of his grip to guide her. Smiling and nodding, she was gradually but inexorably led out into the night. As soon as they left the tent, her smile folded and her shoulders slumped. She hadn't been lying; her legs were burning with the unaccustomed use. Vegeta's arm slipped from around her waist and he started for the house.

She shuffled along beside him as he strode down the path, hobbling in her efforts to keep up. With an exasperated growl, the Saiyan ground to a halt and glared at her.

"Would you hurry up, woman. I have abandoned my training long enough."

Bulma gritted her teeth and stopped alongside him, leaning heavily on her cane. "My legs hurt, Vegeta, I'm going as fast as I can! You just go on ahead, I'll be fine."

"And renege on our deal?" he sneered. "Don't think you can get out of it that easily, human."

Without warning, he swooped towards her. That iron grip closed around her waist again and she was suddenly airborne. The breath whooshed from her lungs as Vegeta's shoulder crushed her stomach. She found herself dangling there, her bouncing head on a level with his butt as he stalked on. It took her several steps to get her breath back but she eventually gave a muffled shriek of outrage.

"For Kami's sake, Vegeta, put me down! Can you imagine what people will say if they see me like this?"

He didn't stop. "Can you possibly imagine that I care, woman?"

She thumped her fists against his back. "Put me down!"

Bulma was becoming aware of another problem. This position stretched her tight leg muscles almost unbearably. With every bouncing stride, hot flares of pain sizzled along her nerves. She could feel the ominous beginnings of a cramp starting in one thigh. Even worse, the blood was starting to pound through her head in a worrying fashion.

"Vegeta," she managed to mutter, "if you don't put me down right now, I'm going to be sick."

Instantly he released her. She slid from his shoulder with a squeak of surprise, her clumsy legs not moving fast enough to break her fall. She scrunched her eyes shut, only to come to a jarring halt as the Saiyan plucked her from the air. She was fairly certain she was going to have bruises on her ribs where he had grabbed her, but looking into his scowling face as he set her on her feet, she wisely kept her mouth shut.

"For fuck's sake, woman," Vegeta hissed, his patience obviously gone. "Why do you have to make things so infernally difficult!"

"I'm sorry, but you were dangling me upside down!" she retorted, "What did you expect?"

He gave a wordless snarl, his fists clenching. For the first time, fear trailed its icy fingers down her spine. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenching so hard she was surprised his teeth didn't shatter.

"Woman," he grated, "I am not going to hurt you. It would be a waste of effort."

Bulma swallowed hard before reaching out to put a tentative hand on his forearm. "Look, Vegeta, I'm sorry I'm being difficult. You go on ahead; I promise you've fulfilled the deal to my satisfaction."

He stared at her hand. Gradually his jaw relaxed until, with a glare that dared her to pipe up again, he stepped forward and swept her up into his arms. With one arm wrapped securely around her back and the other under her knees, he turned and carried her towards the house. After a moment, Bulma cautiously slid her arms up to brace on his shoulders. She was definitely not brave enough to wrap them around his neck. His stride hitched for a moment but then he walked smoothly on.

They proceeded in silence to the house. Without pause he kicked open the door, making Bulma wince. One glace at his stern features convinced her to button her lip. He climbed the stairs easily and she marvelled all over again at his incredible strength. Even Yamcha, who had often flung her around until they were both dizzy with laughter, had to brace himself to climb stairs carrying her weight; it wasn't that she was heavy, but the balance required took a bit of concentration. Vegeta made it seem effortless.

Unconsciously her thumbs began to make tiny circles against his shoulders, exploring the muscles delineated there. As he swung left towards her room, she noticed that he automatically corrected his path to ensure that she didn't hit either wall with her feet or head.

They reached her room and stopped outside her door. Bulma was aware of a niggling feeling of disappointment as he lowered her to her feet. _It's just because this has been a really good night_, she told herself firmly. Realising that her hands were still resting against Vegeta's shoulders, she looked up. Their eyes met, his face unusually peaceful; it was rare to see him without a sneer.

The moment stretched. Slowly, ignoring the burn in her leg muscles, Bulma leant forwards and pressed her lips briefly to his.

"Thanks, Vegeta," she whispered as she stepped away, her hands falling to her sides. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hands clench into fists and, unwilling to let him ruin her good memories of the night, she brushed past him and into her room, shutting the door gently behind her.

Vegeta stood there for a long time, breathing in her scent and desperately clutching the threads of his self control.

A cough interrupted Bulma's reminiscing. She paused in the last of her exercises, looking up. Goku stood in the doorway, one hand scratching the back of his head as he smiled sheepishly.

"Hey, Bulma. How's it going?"

"Goku!" she shrieked, launching herself up off the floor and into his arms in one movement.

He laughed, swinging her around before gently setting her back on her feet. "Long time no see huh?"

She smacked him on the arm, only to give a little squeal and shake her hand out. She'd forgotten how much that stung. After a minute she stopped wriggling her sore fingers, checking for permanent damage. Finding none, she laughed.

"You'd think I'd have learnt not to do that by now. Some genius I am!"

Goku grinned. "Aw, come on, Bulma. It can't hurt that much!" His smile faded as he continued, "I stopped by because Chichi heard about your accident from your mom. Why didn't you call? You know I would have helped you out, right? You're one of my best friends."

"I know you would, Goku," she replied, "But I know you're off training with Gohan and Piccolo. I didn't want to disturb you. How is it going? Is Gohan keeping up okay?"

Goku gave a small smile and a shrug. "You should see him, Bulma. He's amazing. He learns so fast and he's so strong already. He picks up new techniques like it's nothing."

The quiet pride in his voice made her chest ache. She reached out and hugged him, accustomed by now to the way it felt like hugging a column of rock. As she drew back, she smiled up into his familiar face.

"Of course he's amazing, Goku. He's your son, after all."

For a moment they just stood in comfortable silence, filled as it was with the unspoken memory of their shared history. After a moment, Bulma bent to grab her cane from the floor just in case she needed it. Goku's expression fell again.

"I really am sorry we didn't know, Bulma."

She gave an exasperated chuckle. "You know me, Goku. If I'd wanted you to know, I would have made myself heard even if I had to fly over there in the jet-copter and bash you over the head with my crappy, messed-up legs. Besides, I got along fine in the end. Vegeta helped me out."

Goku blinked. "Vegeta?"

Bulma smiled softly. "Yeah, it's kind of crazy. But actually, apart from a few death threats he's been pretty cool about the whole thing. And really, those threats are starting to look a bit less scary now. I figure if he hasn't killed me yet he probably isn't going to."

Goku, however, had clearly tuned out. Bulma frowned.

"Um, hello? Earth to Goku?"

As she waved a hand in front of his face, he jerked back. This time his smile was sly. "So you and Vegeta are getting on well huh, Bulma?"

Bulma's frown deepened. "I wouldn't say that, but we're rubbing along fine together at least."

Goku began to snicker, muttering, "Rubbing along fine? I bet!"

She put her hands on her hips and advanced on him, glaring. "Alright, mister, what's so freaking funny?"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hang on a second, Bulma. It's nothing, honest!" The saviour of Earth held up his arms protectively, backpedalling towards the door.

Just as she opened her mouth to interrogate him, a muffled yell came from outside. They both frowned.

"Who was that?" Bulma asked.

Goku was already moving, a frown forming on his face. "Yamcha arrived at the same time as I did."

Bulma stopped, relieved. "Oh, is that all? He's probably just tripped over something or stubbed his toe. He's such a dork sometimes."

Goku, however, kept heading for the door. The grim look on his face made a flutter of nervousness rise in her stomach.

"Goku? What's wrong? Why are you rushing out there?"

His answer drifted back to her as he jogged down the hall. "Because I can feel Vegeta powering up."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It took Bulma considerably longer to get outside, even leaning on her cane. By the time she burst out onto the lawn, Goku was standing in between Vegeta and Yamcha. Her ex-boyfriend was sprawled on the floor, bleeding from a split eyebrow and a swollen lip, his energy a pale flicker around him. The way he was clutching his stomach suggested that Vegeta had managed to get a few licks in there too before he was interrupted.

Now Vegeta glared at his nemesis, his energy swirling chaotically around him, matching the seething rage in his eyes. Goku's face was for once serious, his eyes meeting Vegeta's levelly. Although Bulma couldn't sense energy the way they could, she knew from Goku's posture that he was poised on the edge of action, ready to react in a split second.

As she took a deep breath, she imagined she could almost smell the testosterone in the air. Allowing her cane to drop to the floor, she braced her feet apart and slapped her hands down on her hips. Her pulse was thundering, adrenaline making her lightheaded. She was sure she'd be stumbling out into carnage.

"Hold it!" she barked. "You will all calm down right now, and I mean now, or I swear I'll find a way to make you regret it, Saiyan or not!"

Yamcha, familiar with that tone of voice, gulped and instantly powered down. Goku and Vegeta ignored her.

She was sure steam nearly erupted from her ears.

"I said," she bellowed, "_right now_!"

Surprisingly, Vegeta was the first to react. He turned to her with a sneer, hands balled into fists.

"Woman, do not interrupt your betters. I warned this weakling once before to steer clear of my territory, now it's time he faced the consequences of disobeying me."

"Territory?!" Yamcha spluttered, his own temper obviously rising again, "Bulma is not you territory, monkey boy!"

Goku and Bulma blinked at one another. The scientist recovered first, her voice rising to a shriek.

"What?! I'm not _anybody's_ territory, thank you very much. Not yours, Vegeta, and _definitely_ not yours, Yamcha. Got it?"

The bandit scowled at her. "I have more right to you than he does. You were my girl for years, Bulma."

Her eyes narrowed and she stalked towards him, her voice a menacing hiss. "The key word there is 'were', buster. As for rights to me, you lost those when you slept with the last vapid fangirl." The venom suddenly boiled up from the dark, hurt place inside her where it had been festering for so many years, a miasma of insecurity and bitterness she had no idea she had been harboring. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her nails biting into the palms of the hands as she clenched her fists. "Nobody has rights to me unless I give them, and I'm pretty damn sure I haven't done that recently!"

As she panted, her rage so great that it was like a vice around her chest, a voice from behind her purred, "Oh, but you have."

Startled, she spun around. Vegeta stood just behind her. His sharp canines flashed as his lips curled back and all of a sudden she recalled the feeling of his mouth closing around her finger, his tongue probing delicately at her injury. She was horrified to feel a familiar clenching starting up in her stomach.

_I am not attracted to Vegeta_, she thought frantically, _it's just not possible. _Her breath rasped in her lungs, her rage so overwhelming she was panting with it.

The man in question shot Yamcha a smile that was nowhere near pleasant. "Woman, we made a deal that placed you under my protection until you were fully healed from your injury. You are not back to full strength yet, if you can call it that. You still hobble around leaning on that twig when you begin to tire. That means the deal still stands, which means I do in fact have certain," he paused to relish the moment, "_rights_ to you."

Bulma squared up to Vegeta, utterly incensed.

"It does no such thing and you know it! You're twisting the terms because you want an excuse to beat up Yamcha."

He scoffed. "I don't need an excuse other than that his weakness offends me."

"You could pretty much say that about anybody!"

"You're right," he sneered, "anybody on this miserable mud ball. You are all so far beneath me that you are like ants to my boot, you pathetic human."

Bulma suddenly laughed.

"What?" he snapped, scowling.

"If I'm that pathetic, that lowly, that far _beneath you_, what does that imply about you? After all, you're the one who has been catering to my whims for the last three months. You even carried me into the house when my legs were tired after the ball."

She ignored the way his face had suddenly gone blank, her fury building. "You're so high and mighty but what do you have to show for it? There's nobody left who would grieve for you if you were to die fighting those androids. Prince Vegeta, ruler of space dust!"

His control snapped. With a wordless roar he lunged for her, closing his hand around her throat and effortlessly wrenching her into the air. Bulma choked, fingernails scrabbling uselessly at his hands, her legs kicking frantically. He jerked her face down to his, snarling incoherently. Just as the pressure at her neck became unbearable and she was sure she was going to lose consciousness, it was suddenly released.

She fell heavily to her hands and knees, head hanging, desperately sucking in air. She could see Goku's legs where he stood between her and Vegeta, his aura now golden and crackling dangerously.

"That's enough, Vegeta."

Beyond rational thought, Vegeta shot forwards. They clashed in midair, grappling with one another, hands locked.

Her rage spent, clarity returned in a nauseating rush. _Oh Kami, _Bulma thought in horror, _how could I say such awful things? _

She lurched to her feet, ready to plunge into the middle of the wrestling match despite knowing that it would almost certainly kill her when Vegeta abruptly released Goku, making the younger man lurch forwards.

Without a word to either of them, he stalked away and into the GR, the slam of the door behind him ringing like a death knell.

For the first time in their long friendship, Goku shot Bulma a look of mingled disappointment and disgust. He launched himself into the sky and rapidly disappeared, leaving a severely shaken Bulma to rush into the house, abandoning Yamcha on the lawn.

For weeks, Bulma and Vegeta hardly saw one another. She went out of her way to avoid him, so ashamed of herself that she couldn't even stomach being in the same room as her. It seemed that he felt the same way, though for a different reason. She realised how deeply her barbs had struck the day she went into the kitchen and Vegeta, in the middle of a meal, abruptly dropped his spoon and left the room. Bulma was shocked; if you'd asked her, she would have said that nothing would get between a Saiyan and his food.

The bruises around her neck took a long time to fade. As soon as he'd seen them, her father had demanded that Goku return and eject Vegeta at once.

Bulma had calmed him down by simply saying, "I forgive him, Dad. When I think about what I did, what he did… I'm not saying it's excusable, but I can understand."

Yet somehow Bulma couldn't find the right words to express to Vegeta how sorry she was, that she hadn't meant it. Her fear of him had returned and Bunny, seeing the way her daughter was beginning to jump at shadows again, finally lost her patience.

"Bulma," she said tartly, "you're being ridiculous."

Shocked, the heiress put down the ceramic shoulder plate she was fiddling with. "Excuse me?"

Her mother stared at her with solemn eyes. "I think you need to remember who and what you're dealing with when it comes to Vegeta, dear. You once told me he could kill you in less than a second, even with his bare hands. Is that still true?"

"Well of course it is," Bulma snapped.

Bunny raised her eyebrows. "And yet here you are. How strange." And, humming quietly to herself, she wandered away.

For several days, the genius mulled over her mother's words. Slowly, her fear began to ebb, replaced by confusion. _Mom was right. In that amount of time, Vegeta could have killed me easily. He was so angry he wouldn't have cared about Goku being there. So why am I still alive?_

It took nearly another week for Bulma to muster her courage and decide to apologise to Vegeta. Her project was finally completed to her satisfaction. With a loving hand she stroked the cool, smooth material one final time. Then she lifted it carefully into its box and, carrying it against one hip, went to find her quarry.

She could hear the growl of the GR as she stepped out onto the lawn. It took a few seconds for her scientist's brain to tune in to the difference in frequency; the machine's usual quiet hum had acquired a high pitched whine. Even as began to run, a huge burst of light shot out from inside. Her scream was lost as the GR exploded with an angry roar.

The concussion wave knocked her off her feet, her elbows slamming painfully into the earth, her precious cargo forgotten. The acrid reek of burnt plastic reached her nose as the rubble shifted a final time, groaning. She stared at the wreckage in mute horror.

_Oh Kami. I'm too late. Nobody could have survived that. The last words we spoke were angry ones. Oh Vegeta, I'm so sorry._

Another heavy piece of metal fell from the top of the pile. The thud woke her from her stupor.

"Vegeta!" Her scream caught the attention of the employees already gathering to see what had caused the explosion.

Like a madwoman she flung herself at the debris, tearing the flesh from her hands as she scrabbled to shift some of the rubble. A low, keening cry sounded continuously from her throat, her eyes weeping with both grief and pain as the smoke billowed around her.

"Bulma," her dad said softly from behind her. "Come away. There's nothing you can do here."

"No," she moaned, ignoring him, "no no no no no."

Although he dreaded what they might find, Dr. Briefs directed some of the workers to help move the larger remnants of the machine. They worked in efficient silence, shocked by both the explosion and Bulma's hysteria. While they toiled in pairs and groups, she dug with manic determination on her own, her whole being fixed on her goal. Yet as the minutes wore on, her frantic pace slowed then came to a halt. Numb, she rocked back onto her heels and stared at the ruins.

"I'm so sorry, Vegeta. Oh Kami, I'm just so sorry." Her voice cracked as she buried her face in her bloody, blistered hands.

A noise made her head lift sharply. Her heart almost stopped when a hand shot out from the ashes, clawing at chunks of masonry. She scrambled to help and within seconds Vegeta burst up into the fresh air, chest heaving. He swayed for a moment before collapsing onto one knee, bracing his knuckles against the rubble to help him balance.

Weak with relief, all else forgotten, Bulma slumped to her knees at his side, already running her eyes over his numerous injuries.

"Vegeta," she breathed, "you're alive. Oh Kami, you need to get to the infirmary right now."

The Saiyan growled, his voice rasping with strain, "Get away from me, woman. I don't need help."

Bulma reached out to brace him but he slapped her hands away. She ignored the sting and climbed to her feet as he pushed himself up onto his with a grunt. "I said I don't need-"

His eyes rolled up into his head, his body losing the fight with gravity as he fell backwards into darkness. The last thing he heard was Bulma's scream.

"Vegeta!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He swam through formless darkness. Something was already building at the edge of his awareness, a dull roar that made him cringe, though his cage of flesh remained unmoving. He caught a wisp of a familiar scent, sound coming to him in brief snatches of lucidity.

"-is crashing, we need to-"

"-too strong, it won't-"

"-out of my way right now or I swear I will-"

The wave rose up and swallowed him whole.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

This time he rose to awareness slowly. He tried to open his eyes but his body was outside of his command. He could feel something pressing against his face, something wrapped around his waist that held him down, and panic rose. An animal trapped, his body instinctively struggled, spasms wracking him.

"-going on, I can't-"

"-seizing, hold him down!"

"No, wait!"

He vaguely felt his fist connect with something. A muffled crash. Silence. Awareness began to recede.

A voice, familiar but slurred. "The sheets. Untuck the sheets."

He fell.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Three days. It had been three days since the explosion, and still Vegeta lay unmoving in the infirmary bed. Bulma rested her head on her hands, wincing at the sharp ache that shot through her temple. The bruise from Vegeta's fist stubbornly remained a dark purple, spreading from just above her ear across her face, wrapping around her eye and down to the corner of her slightly swollen mouth.

The doctors had worried that her skull was fractured, but she'd waved off their mutterings about x-rays. A quick scan with Capsule Corp's own equipment had proved it to be merely very deep bruising. She concluded that his unconsciousness had saved her; not expecting a blow, she hadn't tried to brace at all, which would have been utterly useless against his strength and would most likely have resulted in a broken neck for her. Her back was one massive, throbbing ache where she had crashed into a medical cart and then the wall, but she counted herself lucky to be alive.

The genius swallowed hard, lifting her head. She had hardly left the room for three days, sleeping on a cot beside his bed and eating little. Her stomach was clenched so tight from guilt and worry that nausea constantly lurked.

"Please, Vegeta," she whispered, "wake up. I'm so sorry."

She'd taken to talking to him on and off. She didn't know if he could hear her or not, but she figured it couldn't hurt to try. Her guilt had been bad enough before. However, since aiding in Vegeta's care it had ballooned to new proportions. The evidence of his suffering littered his body, which bore numerous scars. She had traced gentle fingers over them and wondered, a little sadly, how he had survived such horrific injuries, many of which she knew from King Cold's files had been inflicted when he was a mere child.

As she had worked on the armour, she had also worked her way through the files. She had only scanned over his briefly; even the little she had read had felt like an invasion of privacy. She remembered thinking that it was no surprise he'd ended up the way he had, with an upbringing like that. Reading about it in the dry, precise medical language of his file and actually seeing the proof carved into his skin were vastly different experiences, however. Compassion had spurred her guilt to further heights, and beneath it the seed of tenderness she'd been harbouring since the night of the ball sprouted a tiny, fragile new shoot.

"I would have apologised sooner, Vegeta, but I didn't know what to say. Some genius I am, huh? So you need to wake up so I can say it in person. Besides," she tossed her hair back over one shoulder for effect, even knowing he couldn't see it. "it's not every day that a beautiful genius begs for your forgiveness, right? You know your ego would love that. So just… wake up for me. Please."

"Woman," a harsh voice grated, "will you stop that infernal racket?"

Bulma's head shot up. "Vegeta? You're awake!"

"Obviously," he grunted, struggling to sit up.

Bulma stood, pressing her hands gently into his shoulders. He was appalled when his torso sank back into the mattress; he had not felt so weak for a long time.

"Whoa, macho man, you need to just stay there for a while. You managed to do yourself some serious damage, you idiot."

He looked sharply at her and was surprised to see a soft smile in lieu of the scowl he had been expecting. She winced, a hand flying to touch the swollen corner of her mouth. She looked away, studying the edge of the sheet.

"I have to apologise," she said in a rush, "for the things I said to you. I don't – it's not – ugh! I mean, I don't know why I said such awful things to you. I didn't mean any of them. I didn't realise I was still so angry."

There was silence. Eventually, she looked up to meet his eyes. His narrowed, steady on her face as though assessing her sincerity. After what felt like forever, he grunted and broke their mutual stare, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest fraction. Bulma let out a long breath of relief; she'd take that as a sign of forgiveness, she thought determinedly. It's not like Vegeta would ever deign to admit that she had managed to hurt him, after all.

They sat in a less fraught kind of silence for a while, broken only by the steady beep of the machines monitoring his heart rate. Saiyans' hearts, she had been fascinated to realise, beat slower than humans'. She'd theorised that the muscle was so much stronger it was required to do less work to achieve the same effect. Given the few other facts they knew about Saiyan physiology, including the fact that their veins and arteries were much wider to allow for a greater rate of blood flow, it seemed to be a logical supposition.

Realising that she was retreating into science as a way to avoid talking to Vegeta, she bit her lip, then had to stifle a yelp at the sting. Steeling her courage, she cast about for a subject to discuss. Her eyes fell on a jagged scar cut deep into his pectoral muscle.

"Was this where…?" she trailed off, abruptly realising that she hadn't chosen the most relaxing subject matter.

Vegeta turned his head to look at her. After a tense moment, he surprisingly responded.

"Yes, that is where Frieza killed me."

Seeing his expression darken, she unthinkingly reached out and traced the line of another scar, this one snaking down the side of his ribcage in a lazy curl. He stilled beneath her hand. Suddenly aware of the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, she caught her breath. They both watched as she stroked her way down the scar again, her skin pale against his.

"What about this one?" she murmured.

"One of my first purges." His voice had dropped to a husky growl that made her stomach clench. "We cleared the home planet of reptilian creatures. They were a race of cannibals; their every body part was armoured for protection. I foolishly forgot that they had barbed tails and turned my back on an enemy I thought I had killed."

His eyes closed as he remembered the hot slice of agony as his side split under the lash of the creature's tail. He had been particularly brutal in his attacks because the planet's inhabitants reminded him of Frieza. He had rampaged through their ranks like a demented thing, and even the pain had faded under his rage as he spun to blast the lizard who had cut him.

Bulma's soft voice drew him from the bloody memory. "What about here?"

His eyes opened, watching as she examined a slightly raised, shiny patch of skin that covered one hip bone, disappearing under the training shorts he wore. He could see from the way her fingers twitched that she wanted to touch it, to feel the odd slickness with her fingers. A faint smirk twisted his lips as she blushed. Her eyes briefly traced the hard ridges of his abdomen and she bit her lip, the blush darkening. He preened.

"Vegeta?" her soft voice queried.

"A burn, as I'm sure you can tell, woman." His voice had gone harsh with want. "It is a remnant of a childhood punishment from Zarbon. The wound healed poorly because it began to fester before I was allowed to use one of the healing chambers."

Her breath caught for a moment, and her voice sounded odd as she repeated, "Here?"

He didn't need to look to know which scar she traced now. He could feel her touch feathering against his brow, following the silvery line above his eye, barely discernible from a distance.

"That is from my first battle with Kakkarot."

His teeth clenched at the reminder of his hated foe and he started to sit up once more, the energy born of rage fuelling him. He was stopped by a soft sound from the woman at his side. He turned to stare at her. Her head was bowed, shielding her face from his view, but her ribs hitched in rhythmic little jerks.

Before he could think better of it, his hand stretched out. With gentle fingers, he lifted her chin. The sheen of tears on her face was like a punch in the gut. He released her as though burned.

"Woman, stop that at once!" he barked, horrified.

She smiled through her tears. "It's okay, Vegeta, just ignore me."

"Why are you crying, you foolish creature?"

Her smile became softer, sadder. "Because I'd never realised how much you suffered before. It must have been awful."

His eyebrows snapped together, a warning growl rumbling in his chest. "Do not think to pity me."

"It's not pity, okay? It's compassion."

For once, Vegeta was stumped. Seeing the way he was torn between confusion and anger, Bulma frowned.

He hesitated a moment at the question in her eyes before quietly saying, "My scars are a mark of honour, woman. They prove that I have fought harsh enemies, and yet I live. They are a testament to my triumphs. But…" she could see some huge struggle occurring within him as he reached for the words, "nobody has ever grieved for me before. I am your enemy. I would blast this miserable mud ball into oblivion if it wasn't for the challenge of the androids. Why do you cry for me?"

Bulma leaned forwards and, as their faces drew close, she whispered, "You are not my enemy, Vegeta."

Gathering her courage, she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his. For an interminable few seconds, there was nothing. Just as she was about to pull away, mortified, a strong hand grasped the back of her head. His lips softened briefly beneath hers before he took control of the kiss, tilting her head and nipping in hot demand at her lips.

Bulma whimpered, going limp. Somehow he was suddenly sitting up on the edge of the bed, one strong arm wrapped around her waist, the other kneading the base of her neck in a rough caress. Just as she began to feel lightheaded, Vegeta pulled back. She was gratified to see that he was panting slightly, but when the heated look in his eye seared her, her mouth went dry.

They stared at one another, both grappling for self-control. His heavy-lidded eyes closed as he exerted his iron will. When they opened again, his face was once more impassive. Only the clenching of his fists betrayed the passion still burning beneath the surface. Bulma swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath. Intensely aware of him staring at her, she looked away and her eyes fell on the box in the corner of the room.

"Oh! Hey, I have something for you. I was going to give it to you before you decided to blow yourself up."

Vegeta snorted. "Woman, I did not blow myself up. I merely underestimated my own strength."

She shot him a teasing look. "Uh-huh, sure you did. Sounds like another way of saying 'blew myself up' to me."

He merely grunted, but to her surprise there was the faintest quirk at the corner of his lips. Seeing him so relaxed was a novelty that made her pause for a moment, watching him, but at the delay his eyebrows began to draw together. She hastily grabbed the gift, turning to leave it on the bed beside him. One delicate hand gave its surface a last, loving stroke before she relinquished it, strangely reluctant to see his reaction now the moment was upon her.

_Kami,_ she silently begged, _please don't let him hate it._

She didn't know why or when his response had become so important to her, but she knew that it was. With brutal honesty, exposed by the fading remnants of her terror after the explosion, she knew that it was vital that he see her as something more than a weak, useless Earthling.

_He has to like it_, she told herself. _Or I'll kick his alien butt. His tight, firm… _She swallowed hard._ Oh Kami, please let him like it!_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry for the delay folks, I've been on holiday! But as you can see, I'm back and the action continues. Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 13**

Vegeta eyed the box warily. It was large, but from the way the woman had handled it, it wasn't very heavy. He carefully peeled back the layer of paper that wrapped it, only to be interrupted by Bulma's stifled cough of impatience.

"What?" he snapped.

"For Kami's sake, Vegeta, it's not a bomb. Just open it already!"

Grumbling to himself, the Saiyan prince tore into the gift. As he opened the lid, he registered the way Bulma went still, holding her breath. Then all his attention was stolen by the objects the box contained.

Neatly folded at the top was a simple black bodysuit. It appeared to be made of standard Earth lycra at first glance, but as his fingers touched it he realised that it was not. It was a replica of the material the Saiyans had used, a much lighter, more durable fabric that breathed well enough to keep the warrior cool beneath their armour. To his chagrin, he sweated a waterfall while he wore the lycra bodysuits the woman had initially provided. He had privately been disgusted by feeling so unkempt and unhygienic, but he hadn't complained. He hadn't wanted anyone to realise how uncomfortable such filth made him. He had survived many years slumming in far worse conditions.

Beneath the bodysuit lay a pair of plain white gloves, made of a slightly thicker version of the same material, and a pair of shiny white boots. He brushed a hand along the sole of one; it was made of some kind of alloy he had never seen before. The ridged surface provided grip, but the thin layer of metal seemed diamond hard. It would protect his feet much better from extremes of temperature than his old boots had, and would deliver a higher impact kick too.

He carefully lifted the boots out and set them on the mattress. His eyes were inexorably drawn to the bottom of the box. He reached in and grasped the armour that lay there, waiting for him.

He handled it with reverence, ignoring the woman who had begun to fidget beside him. The chest piece was a gleaming white, offset by dark bronze shoulder plates and a bronze abdominal guard. As he removed it from its box, he was aware of how lightweight it felt. Trepidation surfaced. Had she provided him with a sub-standard bonding gift? His teeth clenched, he lifted a fist and rapped sharply against the chest piece. To his surprise, his knuckles stung as he snatched his hand away. The body of the armour was made of a material he had never seen before. He turned a frown in Bulma's direction.

"I have not encountered this material before, woman. This is not made of the Saiyan alloy."

Bulma swallowed, trying to calm her pounding pulse. "No, I replicated the standard alloy but it had a flaw at the molecular level. The need for it to adjust to fit different warriors compromised some of the integrity of the structure. I adjusted the alloy formula a bit once I found that that was the problem, but I couldn't make it strong enough so in the end I used a modified version with a much greater structural integrity and much lower molecular-level flexibility."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he realised what her nervous jargon came down to. "This armour is fitted specifically for me? How can you be sure it is the correct size?"

Bulma's eyebrows snapped into a haughty frown. "Um, hello! World's greatest scientific genius and fashionista here. Of course it will fit."

He grunted, his unease growing. With an abrupt shove at the blankets still gathered over his hips, he rose to his feet. His knees felt precariously weak for a moment but stubbornness kept him upright until they steadied. Without further comment, he reached for the armour and fitted it against his bare chest.

"Oh!" Bulma had to clear her throat, mortified at the breathiness in her voice. "I'll get that. I changed the fitting because the whole slide it over the head thing isn't just impractical, it is butt friggin' ugly. This has little air locks at the sides, like this."

Vegeta watched as she ran her hands down his sides. It looked as though she merely pressed the edges of the armour together and they melted into a smooth whole, but his sensitive ears detected the quiet hiss of the air locks engaging. He waited for her to step back before swinging his arms from side to side. To his surprise, his arm movements were not in the least restricted. One of the problems with the standard armour he had worn aboard Frieza's ship was in the extended shoulder plates; although they provided protection to the vulnerable joint, they had been rigid and restrictive, particularly for upward movements.

He twisted his head, examining the shoulder plates Bulma had created. They were made up of strips of some kind of ceramic material which slid smoothly over one another, allowing him the full range of movement. He knocked his fist against the similar-looking abdominal section.

"This material," he queried without looking up, "is strong enough to withstand significant force, I take it. I will not accept a flawed gift, woman."

Bulma's eyes narrowed, her flare of temper banishing her nerves. "Excuse me? I have never produced a flawed product, you arrogant cretin!"

Vegeta lifted one eyebrow, a smirk forming as he remembered some of her earlier training bot experiments. Bulma had the grace to blush.

"Hey, those were hardly final designs, okay? And you rushed me. You can't rush genius, Vegeta!"

The Saiyan snorted, but he was aware of an unfamiliar warmth building in his belly. It only intensified when he realised that the woman was doing her best not to look at his torso as he disengaged the air locks. He turned his back to her, flexing a little as he carefully removed the armour. He smirked again when he heard her breath catch.

He stared down at the gift in his hands, his mood becoming serious. As he looked it over a final time, a shimmer of red caught his attention. He turned it toward the light to get a better look. It left him frozen.

Bulma noticed his sudden stillness. "Vegeta?"

When she got no answer, she stepped closer and looked over his shoulder, trying to ignore the heat of his body. Her eyes fell on the little symbol that had him riveted and her mouth went dry. She had to clear her throat before she could speak.

"Look Vegeta, I didn't mean to offend you. It was just one of those impulses, you know? It felt right at the time, which I know is totally not scientific…"

Her voice trailed off as he turned his head to look at her, his eyes dark with emotion so powerful that it almost drove her back a step. Gathering her courage and ignoring the sudden, yawning well of despair that opened inside her when she saw his frozen features, she reached for the armour.

"I'm sorry, I'll take it off-"

"No." His voice was hoarse, his hands automatically cradling their burden closer. "I have not seen this symbol since my planet was destroyed. Where did you find it?"

"It was in King Cold's files. Did I get it wrong?" she asked anxiously, a glimmer of hope sparking to life.

"No. It is correctly drawn, woman."

He stared down at the armour. The crest of the Saiyan royal family stared back at him, perfectly wrought in all its intricate detail. He traced over it with a finger, feeling the slightly raised lines in the familiar pattern, one he had learnt to recognise even before he had learnt to walk. He gritted his teeth, fighting to hold on to his blank expression as pride and anger and loss roiled inside him like a storm cloud.

Bulma's hand tentatively came to rest against his bare shoulder. It burned like the sun against his skin. Her breath fanned against his cheek as she murmured in his ear.

"You should wear it proudly, Vegeta. You're the last true prince of the Saiyans."

The tension inside him dissolved, leaving in its place calm certainty. He turned, sidestepping so that they were facing one another, the armour held in one sure hand between them. With the other he reached up and took her hand, moving it from his shoulder to rest over the steady beat of his heart. Bulma's breath hitched as he then lifted it to his mouth, slicing the skin of his palm on one sharp canine with a quick jerk.

She started to pull away, the hot clenching of her stomach edging from pleasurable to nauseous, but his gaze held her in place. He held his hand over the armour, letting his blood drip onto its shining surface. Aware that she was partaking in a ritual she didn't understand but that was obviously important to him, Bulma relaxed slightly.

After a moment he clenched his fist, stopping the flow of blood. He carefully reached over and put his armour down on the bed, his eyes beginning to burn with a heat that made her shiver.

"I accept your gift, female. It is armour worthy of a prince."

His shoulders relaxed and he stepped away. Her hand fell back to her side, but her fingers still tingled where they had touched his flesh. Swallowing hard, Bulma reached for her composure. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows as she gave him an arch smile.

"Of course it is. I made it, after all."

To her shock, Vegeta's eyes flickered with humour even as he smirked. "And we all know how well your experiments turn out, woman. Your gravity room nearly got me killed."

She gasped. "Excuse me?! _My _gravity room was just fine until _you_ decided to blow it up."

Faster than she could follow, his arms reached out and banded around her waist. She braced for impact but his grip was soft, his strength exquisitely controlled as he pulled her gently against his chest. Her hands came to rest against his shoulders as she stood caged in the circle of his arms.

She could feel the words rumbling in his chest as he purred, "Clearly you must work harder at trying to please me, woman."

Bulma tried to muster a retort, but the contained strength of his arms around her and the gleam of wicked intent in his eyes robbed her of thought. With an inarticulate sound of want, she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Vegeta went willingly, eager for the contact. Their lips touched and sweet fire raced from her lips to his, searing through his veins and filling his body with delicious heat. His grip tightened and she hummed in satisfaction, pressing closer to him. He slanted his mouth harder over hers, stealing the reins from her hands, demanding she yield to his seduction. Her lips parted, making him growl in pleasure as he deepened the kiss, the primal part of his brain purring in satisfaction even as a tiny portion of his intelligence monitored his strength, aware of how delicate, how fragile she felt against him.

After long minutes, he felt her balance begin to shift as her knees weakened. He reluctantly pulled back, devouring the sight of her passion-flushed cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips. When her eyes opened, they were dazed and dreamy. A sense of rightness took him, as she relaxed against his chest, panting softly. He rubbed his cheek against the softness of her hair, pleased when their scents intermingled, marking her as his.

Bulma pulled back slightly, looking up at him as the haze cleared. She cocked her head, studying the taut planes of his face for something he couldn't even guess at. Whatever she saw, it clearly satisfied her because, with a soft sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned her full weight against him, trusting him not to let her fall.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **I'm having some serious technical issues at the moment, so please let me know if this chapter doesn't upload properly!

**Chapter 14**

The Capsule Corp. residents fell into a comfortable routine. During the day, nothing seemed any different. The various friends who visited were treated to ringside seats at Bulma and Vegeta's fiery rows. If their eyes lingered on one another a little longer, if their smirks and sneers were a little softer, it was shrugged off by everyone but Bunny, who merely smiled and went on her way.

At night, the near-constant hum of the GR was broken up by several hour-long periods of silence. Like everything else in his life, Vegeta's time with Bulma was strictly controlled so as not to interfere with his training.

One night Bulma teased him, "I don't think it's 'cus you're worried about your training. You're just too scared to let go even for a second!"

In the brief instant before he sneered, something hollow flashed through Vegeta's eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, woman."

But Bulma had seen, and her mood the next day was pensive. Several weeks later, she lay warm and sleepy under Vegeta's hand as he stroked her hair, playing with the long, gleaming strands. He seemed content to do nothing but that at first, but with a strange growling noise he abruptly swung his legs up onto the bed and reclined beside her, boots and all. She hid her smile against his shoulder, knowing that he did it just to provoke a response.

Grumbling when she remained unresponsive, he rolled to his side and snaked an arm over her waist, jerking her across the sheet and against his chest. She let herself go with the flow, having learnt already that he would keep his touch just light enough not to hurt. As she snuggled in with a sigh, he buried his face in her hair and drew in a deep breath. His muscles relaxed as he dipped his chin to rub his cheek against hers.

"Vegeta," she complained drowsily, swatting at him.

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Shut up."

With another half-hearted swipe at him, she muttered, "You're not a cat, Vegeta. It's so not cute when you rub yourself all over me."

He went still. After a moment, he rolled away from her. Surprised, Bulma lifted her head. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his lips twisted into a bitter sneer. Since he was facing away from her, she had to assume it was aimed at himself. She reached out a hand and lightly touched his rigid shoulder.

"Vegeta?"

He shrugged her hand away. "Leave me be, woman. Humans are such pitifully lazy creatures, far be it from me to interrupt your sleep."

Bulma sighed. "Look, Vegeta, I don't know what bug has crawled up your butt, but I was just teasing, okay? Sheesh, learn to chill out!"

Although he remained silent, some of the tension gradually seeped from the muscles underneath her fingers. With a grunt, he rolled over and reached for her hips, deftly flipping her over so that her back rested against his chest. Feeling the evidence of his desire for her, she gave a throaty little hum and wiggled against him. So far in their relationship they hadn't progressed much beyond kissing and a little touching. This time was no different; Vegeta pressed his hips close for a moment before an arm locked around her waist, firmly stilling any further movement. Bulma pouted until a rich chuckle in her ear made her remember the superior Saiyan night vision.

They settled into a comfortable silence. She was just on the edge of sleep when he murmured, "It is because you are so soft. I have never touched anything like it before. It feels… pleasurable against my skin."

She could feel the renewed tension in him and because he had given, so did she. "I like it when you hold me like this. I like knowing that you're so strong. It's not very modern woman of me, but hey. I rock the modern woman thing in front of the rest of the world, right?"

Another chuckle and a fleeting kiss to her forehead were her only replies as she drifted into sleep.

For three months, they followed the same pattern. They enjoyed the fire of their daytime arguments as a counter for the vulnerability that arose as they learnt one another in the quiet hours of the night.

As with all good things, however, an end came sooner than they would have liked.

Bulma was working late in her lab, studying the blueprint for her father's latest whim. He had decided to utilise some of the alien technology they had stored in Capsule Corp's vast treasury, where it was safely and securely hidden from the public. The spaceship design he had come up with featured a range of gadgets from the everyday to the downright bizarre.

"Why would anyone want a machine that splits a cup of coffee back into milk, coffee granules and sugar?" she muttered, brow furrowed.

Shaking off that thought, she began sketching out some quick calculations. Even before she'd finished, she knew the result. With a groan, she slumped back against her chair. Although she had managed to make Vegeta's armour with a modified version of Earth's welding equipment, the amount of Saiyan alloy necessary to coat the whole of the craft would mean custom building the equipment to seal it in place.

"And guess who draws the short straw there," she grumbled.

She bent to scrub off the calculations when she heard a muffled thud from overhead. For a moment she thought it must be Vegeta, then she realised that she could still feel hear the faint buzz of the GR.

_And Vegeta is never that loud_, she thought with a frown.

As she stood, her eye fell on the blueprints. She folded them up and hastily hid them at the back of a drawer; it would take some fast talking to explain the technology pictured there if a lab tech were to find the prints in the morning. Another muted thud, this one coming from the door to the main laboratory, made her heart start to thump.

_Dad went to bed hours ago and the security is armed. There shouldn't be_ _anyone going into the lab until the morning._

She reached for the panic button under the lip of her desk, bracing for the shrill scream of the alarm as she pushed it. Silence. Her breath hitched, then started to come in short snatches. The alarm system had either been switched off, which almost never happened, or it had been disabled.

The thought made her snap out of her panic. _I designed that system myself. There is no way anybody disabled it._

Throwing her shoulders back, she marched across her office alcove and into the main lab room, which was only partially lit at night. She was halfway to the door when there was a soft pop, a hiss, and then the shriek of tortured metal as the heavy, reinforced door fell from its hinges and landed with a crash on the floor.

Bulma stood frozen in shock as two men jumped through the door and quickly separated, one flattening themselves against the wall either side of the door. The light gleamed against metal and she realised in horror that each man held a gun and they were waiting to ambush anybody who might have heard the noise and come to investigate. Neither had spotted her yet, but as soon as they turned to face the room, they would do.

Heart racing, she closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Then, hardly daring to breathe, she crouched and headed for one of the technicians' desks. There was enough room underneath each work station to hide her easily, and the space was covered on one side with sheet metal to protect the workers' legs from anything that spilled unexpectedly. If she could make it there, she would be reasonably safe.

She'd made it within arm's reach of the desk when she heard a noise. She froze. She closed her eyes in despair when the sound resolved itself into footsteps heading down the hall towards the lab door.

For a long moment she hesitated, torn. But as the footsteps drew nearer, she realised that the slow, measured steps could well be her father, drawn down to the lab to explore an idea that had suddenly and inescapably consumed him – it had happened numerous times before.

Her wavering courage hardened. In a silent rush she pushed to her feet, eyes already on the intruders, who were waiting tensely either side of the door. It all happened quickly: the weak light illuminated the dark uniform and badge of a security guard, the men lunged into the doorway with guns up and ready and Bulma threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs.

The sudden sound made the would-be thieves jump. She heard the muffled cough of silenced guns, heard the startled cry of the security guard as bullets pinged into the doorframe and ricocheted wildly. Bulma was already on the move, crawling as fast as she could back towards her private lab and the many gadgets she had stashed there.

The gun barked again. Out of the silence came a sharp cry, then a long moan that made the hairs on her arms stand up. She froze as a soft, mocking voice filled the lab.

"Well well well, if it isn't the mighty Bulma Briefs herself. This is a pleasant surprise. Why don't you come out here for a little chat?"

She remained still, trying desperately to stop the breath from rasping in her lungs, her throat tight. The voice hardened.

"You can come out now or I can kill the chump sitting in the doorway trying to stop himself from bleeding to death and then come and get you. Your choice, Miss Briefs."

Bulma screwed her eyes shut. After a moment a weak, slurred voice called, "Don't you listen to him, Miss Briefs. Keep yourself safe."

She swallowed hard. And pushed herself back up to her feet.

"I'm here. You don't need to hurt him."

The two men, who had come further into the lab, turned to look at her. With measured steps, trying to gather every ounce of haughtiness she had in her, she approached them. They stopped mere feet from one another and she folded her arms, cocking an eyebrow in an imitation of Vegeta.

"Well?"

One of the men laughed. As his head tilted back, she caught the gleam of red at his temples from underneath the black knit cap he wore. Her eyes narrowed. That voice seemed so familiar…

Outrage blossomed, pushing aside her fear. She slapped her hands onto her hips, drawing herself up.

"_Junior?_ I don't know what you think you're doing, but you sure have done it this time, buster!"

Daniel James Stanton Jr. was the son of rival company Diode's chief executive. Several times Capsule Corp. and Diode had competed for the same contracts – recently, CC had pulled out a last minute upgrade to a hovercar that had won them the contract to provide West City's police force transportation for the next three years. When Diode's board of directors had asked for the chance to review the process that had forged the upgrade, CC had politely but firmly refused. Nobody but she and her father knew where the previously unknown, lightweight metal covering had come from – it didn't affect the cars' speed but afforded greater protection against bullets and crash damage, and it was unlike any metal alloy currently in use on Earth.

Junior, as he was casually known, had been dogging his father's heels for the last few years, trying to learn how to keep the company running at the top of its field. Unfortunately for him, he had inherited none of his father's innate charisma or intelligence. Instead he had all of his sire's cunning and a distinct ruthlessness, completely untroubled by the high morality that had earned Daniel Stanton Sr. so much respect in the business world. Until this point, Bulma had dismissed him as a young thug, of minimal threat to her business.

She leaned forwards, coming nose to nose with him, outrage making her voice shrill.

"How _dare_ you? Get out of my laboratory, you little punk!"

His face creased into a malicious smile. All of a sudden, it occurred to Bulma how much bigger he was than her, for all his youth. She took a step back, but he leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath hot against her face when he spoke, crowding her.

"I don't think so, Bulma. I can call you Bulma, right? We've known each other a while now." His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a menacing hiss. "I've seen you strutting 'round in those skirts and heels, lookin' down your nose at everyone like some frigid bitch. You wouldn't give me the time of day. Well, I came in here looking for somethin' to give Diode an edge, but I don't see why I can't mix business with a little pleasure."

His eyes skimmed over her, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Her heartbeat felt like a hammer against her ribs, her stomach clenching against a surge of acid as his meaning sank in.

His companion shifted, casting an uneasy glance at the doorway. "Junior man, let's just get something and go. I don't-"

"Shut up," Junior snarled at him.

"Come on, we need to get outta here. This place gives me the creeps."

"I said shut up! I don't wanna have to listen to your bitching. Go and watch the door or somethin'."

With another nervous glance at her, the smaller man turned and scuttled across the room to squat by the fallen door. Junior turned to face her and smiled. Instinct made her lurch backwards just as he made a grab for her. Sucking in air, she turned to run. She made it to the far side of the nearest desk when she was almost jerked off her feet by a fist closing in a handful of her hair.

Her neck was wrenched backwards, her back arching painfully as she staggered, desperate to stay upright. She knew with an instinct as primal as the urge to survive that if he got her down onto the floor, it would be over. Anger roared to life inside her and she turned, lashing out with a hard sideways kick that caught him just above the knee.

His leg buckled, his startled curse loud over the sound of her own breath rasping in her lungs. With teeth bared, she balled her hand into a fist and drove it into his nose as he teetered, off-balance – years of watching her friends fight gave her the knowledge to keep her thumb tucked out of the way and to get all the strength of her shoulder behind the blow.

Junior howled as his nose shattered, blood spattering across his chest and the side of her face. She twisted, shrieking as the movement ripped some of the hair from her scalp. The sharp, stinging pain was forgotten however when she managed to tear herself free of her captor.

"Vegeta!" she screamed, diving for a gap between two desks.

A hand latched onto her ankle, momentum sending her crashing to her knees. Her nails scrabbled against the floor as she kicked backwards with her free leg, fear clawing at her with icy fingers.

Vegeta's name escaped her on a sob as she looked over her shoulder, Junior's eyes glittering with malice above his blood-smeared mouth, his teeth gleaming against the gore. He saw her looking and, with a triumphant snarl, he yanked her backwards.

His weight came down hard on her back, crushing the breath from her lungs. His hands tore at her lab coat and, as she reared back to headbutt him in the chin, she spared a second to give fervent thanks for the strength of the material.

His curses blistered the air around her. A hand fisted in her hair once more and, before she could brace, he slammed her head into the floor. Pain exploded in her face, boiling along her sinuses and searing across her left cheek. Dazed, she remained limp as he flipped her over.

"Now, you uptight little bitch, let's see you-"

A surge of some invisible force blasted into the room. The lights shattered, plunging the lab into darkness. Her captor went still.

What happened next was the stuff of nightmares. A flash of purple light lit up the lab; Bulma just had time to see Junior's companion, mouth gaping, eyes bulging from his forehead, evaporate before their eyes. Darkness fell.

The weight abruptly vanished from her hips. Another flash, this one revealing Junior's legs as he went sailing across the lab to land with a crash against the far wall, the skin of his left arm shiny and blistering from intense heat. Darkness.

Gentle hands seized her in an inexorable grip, plucking her from the floor and into familiar arms; before her brain could scream for her to run, her body had relaxed, knowing and trusting the man who held her.

A low growl in her ear. She reached up and blindly wrapped her arms around his neck, closing her eyes. Already the cold inside her was easing, his aura reaching out to surround her with warmth and comfort. She rested her head against his shoulder wearily, secure in the knowledge that there was nowhere safer for her than where she was.

A moan sounded through the darkness. Vegeta upped the intensity of his aura until it was strong enough to cast a weak, silvery light around them. Ignoring the pathetic human whimpering in the corner, he studied his woman intently. The acrid fear-scent was abating gratifyingly quickly now that he held her, which made him smirk even as his rage began to boil anew when he saw the damage to her face.

Seeing the scowl beginning to form, she reached up and gingerly prodded at the split on her cheekbone. She was distracted by the sight of her hand, which made her give a little shriek.

"What?" Vegeta barked, tensing.

Bulma looked up into his face, summoning a pout and firmly repressing the lingering terror that was threatening to make her eyes water. "I think I broke all of my nails against his face. And look at my knuckles! And my cheek! I won't be able to go out in public for _days_, Vegeta." She made a face, wincing when it pulled at her cut. "'Victim' is so not my colour."

Vegeta relaxed again, one corner of his mouth curling up in the shadow of a smile. "Woman," he rasped, "you have taken ten years off my lifespan tonight. You usually have no trouble with it; why did you not bellow sooner?"

Exhaustion suddenly tugged at her, making her words slur. "Thought I could handle it myself. I can be pretty kick-ass, you know."

He snorted. She waved a threatening fist at him, retracting it when he nipped it sharply. Still holding her, he walked across the room to look down at the snivelling human slumped on the floor.

The killing rage, which had filled him to the exclusion of all else when he'd stood in the ruined doorway and seen this pitiful human straddling _his_ woman, had passed. Now he coolly catalogued the broken nose, the lump forming on the man's forehead, the bloody chin. He cocked his head. For an untrained human, Bulma had managed to do a fair amount of damage. Not enough to save herself, but not a complete disgrace either.

Bulma stirred against him. "Vegeta-"

His aura surged as he lifted a hand and blasted Junior into nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **To the reviewer who commented on their relationship, they haven't in fact had sex yet so Trunks won't appear for a while longer, I'm afraid! Sorry if I gave that impression somewhere; their relationship is still relatively chaste at the moment, though (hopefully) obviously not for lack of passion!

**Chapter 15**

Later that night, Bulma lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. In the background the GR hummed, a noise she was disturbed to find very reassuring after the shock of her home, her sanctuary, being invaded. Her mind churned over the drama. Nobody knew about Junior's planned excursion into the criminal – or nobody could admit it without admitting to being an accomplice, at least. That would offer a certain amount of protection.

She remembered the terrible blankness that had come over Vegeta's expression as he watched her attacker dissolve into nothing. For the first time in months, she felt a little shiver of unease creep through her limbs.

Feeling the movement, he tightened his grip around her and looked down. She met his eyes warily, reluctant to encounter that frightening void of emotion while he held her so intimately. To her surprise, there was no sign of it. Instead he looked her over carefully, piercing eyes not missing a single detail.

Inspection finished, he said, "Are you well, woman?"

To her further shock, his voice was hoarse with strain. It dawned on her that the tightness of his mouth, the frown lingering on his brow, was not from residual anger but from concern for her wellbeing. Her fear vanished, her muscles relaxing against him again.

She mustered a weak smile. "I'm ok, Vegeta." Her smiled faded. "Did you have to kill him?"

The muscles in his cheek flickered as he gritted his teeth. Aware of the tension still in him, she stroked a gentle hand from his shoulder down along his arm. The repetitive motion soothed him; gradually his rigid biceps began to relax, the tendons in his forearm softening. She privately marvelled that he could be in such control of himself, even under duress. Although he was wound tight, his grip on her remained painless.

Another wave of exhaustion lapped at her. She sighed, closing her eyes. "What is it, Vegeta? I'm tired."

She heard him draw in a long, hissing breath over his teeth. After a moment, he hesitantly responded, "I am troubled by this weakness, woman."

Bulma scowled, her eyes snapping open. "Um, excuse me? I did alright for myself, thank you very much. The guy was twice my size, Vegeta! Not all of us spend our time practising beating on each other, you know."

He ground his teeth together. "Woman, I did not mean _your_ weakness. That is inevitable. I mean _this _weakness." He shook her slightly.

She frowned. "I don't understand."

His voice dropped to a soft growl, his eyes intent on hers. "For years, I have formed no attachments to other beings. Not even the few remaining Saiyans. A warrior is trained to strike at the weakest, most vulnerable parts of the body. Before, I offered few of those weak points. I am good at fighting. The prince of Saiyans could be nothing less. But now… I was _scared_ tonight, woman. Me! Scared, like a child!" He shook her again. "Because I have a weakness now. And it is _you_."

He closed his eyes, breathing hard.

Bulma swallowed, moisture welling up in her own eyes. One part of her was outraged; how dare he reduce her to this, to a _weakness_! But another part of her, the scientific part that had read and heard about the horrors of his childhood, understood and wanted to weep. He'd killed Junior because he was terrified the man would reveal his 'weakness', a vulnerability that was totally unfamiliar to her proud prince. Crushing her hurt, she reached up a hand to touch his face. He opened his eyes to look at her.

"I'm sorry, Vegeta. There must be something we can do about it though, right?"

For a moment he regarded her seriously, then one eyebrow lifted and a smirk began to form on his lips. "Yes," he purred, "There is indeed."

Bulma eyed his wicked expression. "I'm totally not going to like this, am I?"

He chuckled, tilting his head to nuzzle her hair. "Woman, the solution is simple. I will set aside four hours of my morning training session in order to train you."

His lofty tone made clear how much of a concession that would be. Bulma's eyes widened.

"Um, how about no? I've seen the way you train, Vegeta. I am way too young and beautiful to die!"

Exasperated, he growled into her ear, "Don't be an imbecile. I will adjust the training to suit your pitiful strength, of course. Enough of this babble. I have decided. It is time for you to sleep, woman."

As he strode out of the lab, Bulma buried her face in her hands. "Oh Kami," she moaned, "I am so not ready for this!"

Lying in her bed, she smiled at the memory. As she finally drifted into sleep, she was aware of the continued low hum of the GR outside, as soothing to her now as a lullaby.

The next thing she knew, a rough hand was shaking her awake. She groaned, swatting at it. She opened one eye to glare blearily at a smirking Vegeta.

"Go 'way. Sleeping."

He gave a sinister chuckle. "It is time for your training to begin."

She moaned pitifully, burrowing deeper into the bed.

A hand ruthlessly invaded her cocoon, grasping her shoulder and gently but inexorably dragging her towards the weak daylight.

"Nooooo," she whined, stubbornly clinging onto the duvet. She ended up landing in a heap on the floor at Vegeta's feet, encased in a cushioning tangle of blankets.

He eyed the pile, his lip curling with disdain. "Woman, it is a mystery to me how you can be so disgustingly lazy. Get up."

Bulma grunted. After a moment, his footsteps receded. With a happy sigh, she snuggled into her nest and let herself drift. A muffled crash briefly disturbed her doze, but she determinedly ignored it.

There was no warning. An ice-cold deluge suddenly drenched her, soaking into the duvet and stinging against her exposed skin. Shrieking, she leapt up and came face to face with a smirking Vegeta. In his hands he held the bowl of the sink from the bathroom.

She sputtered, "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

He snickered. "You ignored my orders. It is hardly my fault that I had to take steps to correct your insubordination."

"I am not some lackey, Vegeta! And that sink is supposed to be attached to the wall!"

He shrugged. "It was."

Giving a wordless howl of rage, she swung a fist at him. Unfortunately, she connect with his shoulder. Cursing, she hopped around the room sucking on her sore knuckles, trying to shake off the sting.

A smirking Vegeta watched her, arms folded. "Are you quite finished, woman?"

"Get out of my room, you cretin!"

"I will expect you outside the GR in five minutes time." He paused, his grin turning wicked as his eyes dropped to examine her. "And change your clothing, woman. That is not appropriate public wear for the consort of a Saiyan prince." Before she could blink, he was in front of her, pressing a hard kiss to her lips. His voice was a husky growl. "I have no objection to you appearing like this in private, however."

She clung to him as he took her mouth again, her head swimming. She whimpered when he pulled away, steadying her with his hands before he was gone. Pulling herself from her passion-induced daze, she looked down and then gave a little yelp of mortification. Her white cotton and lace camisole was soaked, lovingly outlining every inch of her torso and concealing about as much as a sheet of cling film.

Clapping her arms over her chest, she was infuriated to find herself blushing. Although she and Vegeta had indulged in some lengthy explorations of one another's bodies, it had all been under the comforting shroud of darkness. She knew intellectually that he could see perfectly well in the dark, but she had never been as exposed to him in daylight as she was now.

Grumbling, she sloped across the room to her wardrobe. She was about to pull on a pair of old, worn Capri pants when she stopped, an evil grin lighting her face. She dropped them to the floor and reached for an alternative.

Precisely six minutes later, Vegeta was scowling at the door to the GR. Bulma had not yet arrived and he was seriously debating whether or not to forget the whole ludicrous idea and get on with his own training instead. A cough from behind him almost made him jump; he caught the reaction just in time.

"Oh Vegeta? Here I am."

He swung around, a snarl ready on his lips. It died as soon as he laid eyes on her, along with all higher brain function.

Bulma stood before him in a pair of sleek black leggings, which outlined the gentle curves of her thighs and tapered down to highlight the elegant strength of her slender ankles. Her top was a dark blue the exact colour of the body suit she had made for him and it too was made of some light, clingy material that shimmered in the early morning light. The soft swell of her breasts was emphasised by the draped neck line, the rest of the garment falling in a slim tube that tucked in snugly at her trim waist and ended just below the lush curve of her hips. Her shoulders and arms were bare, her delicate build at odds with the surprisingly lean, toned muscles of her arms. She put one hand on her hip, smirking at him with a haughty toss of her hair.

"Well?"

Vegeta growled. "Woman, what are you wearing? It is indecent!"

She stuck her nose in the air. "Come on, Vegeta, don't be such a prude. This is perfectly normal exercise stuff for Earth women."

A blast of cool morning air hit her just before he was right there, eyes locked on hers as he leant down to rub his cheek against hers, growling again when she instantly relaxed against him, hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. Desire pulsed between them, the heat of it raging through Vegeta's veins, his vision tunnelling until all he could see was the vulnerable, bare skin of her throat. He nipped at it, rumbling with pleasure when her breath hitched as she gave a soft little moan.

He drew her close, pressing his hips into her so that she could feel the evidence of his need hard against her belly. She gave a sinuous little shimmy against him. The shock of pleasure was so intense that he stepped back, afraid his grip would hurt her. They were both breathing hard as they eyed one another.

"Woman," he finally rasped, "do you have no shame? Anyone could see you like this."

Bulma lifted her chin. "So?"

He growled, eyes narrowing. "You are mine."

She smiled and purred, "Yes. All yours."

He gave a hoarse groan and closed his eyes, desperately trying to contain his body's reaction. After several minutes of silence, he finally felt able to relax his iron self-discipline. To his relief, the savage edge of hunger was gone. He opened his eyes to find Bulma bent over at the waist, her back to him as she studiously stretched her calf muscles.

Instant lust consumed him.

Seeing the mixed look of bafflement and want on his face, Bulma had to duck her chin to hide a wicked smile. It hadn't dawned on him yet, but if he was going to train her he was going to have to get close enough to touch, at which point she had every intention of trying to drive him insane. Sweet, sweet revenge was coming her way.


End file.
